Then he demurred agin about the convenience we wuz a-goin’ in.
He sez, “Dum it all, I hain’t a-goin’ to be drawed by a hearse whilst I am alive!”
But I soothed him down by pintin’ out that the boats wuz all painted black.
But wuzn’t it a curous sensation to drive along on streets of water, instead of good, honest dirt. Bein’ kinder skairy of water, I whispered to Josiah—
“As bad as our roads in Jonesville be durin’ the worst of Spring mud, I’d ruther navigate ’em with our wheels up to the hubs in mud than to ride down these water streets.”
Sez he, “Samantha, we didn’t realize our priveliges then, we made light on ’em.”
“Yes,” sez I, “you used language on them roads that you wouldn’t use now if you wuz set back on em.”
“I didn’t talk any worse than the rest of the Jonesvillians!” he snapped out. “And how these streets smell—dead cats and pollywogs!” sez he, turnin’ up his nose real high.
“Wall,” sez I, “less count over our blessin’s. We can hold our noses while we are a-countin’,” sez I. “Look at them towerin’ marble palaces; see the carvin’ on them tall pinnakles and the arched winders and the fretted ruffs,” sez I.
“The ruffs don’t fret no worse than my mind duz!” sez he. “Oh,” he whispered with a low groan, “shall we ever see the cliffs of Jonesville once more!”