Wall, I d’no as you’ll believe me when I say the floor wuz brick—not even a strip of rag carpet on’t, sech as I spread down often in my back kitchen.
Poor creeter! I’d gin him a breadth of my best hit-or-miss carpet in welcome if I’d lived in his day, and known how cold his feet must have been as he stepped out of bed cold mornin’s onto that hard brick floor.
How cold his feet must have been cold mornin’s.
And there wuzn’t a picter on the walls—not one, only a picter of the Virgin.
I’d a-gin him one of my chromos in welcome. I had two throwed in at Jonesville with the last chocolate calico dress I bought.
He should have had one on ’em, and I’d a-gin ’em both to him if it would a-made that gloomy, mysterious creeter any happier; and most probble they would have had their influence—they wuz very bright colored.
One hard wood chair and two stools wuz the only settin’ accommodations he had. I’d made him a barrell chair, if I’d been there; if he’d wanted to go in for cheapness, that would have suited him. Saw a seat out of an old salt barrell and cushion it with a old bed-quilt and cover it with cretonne.
He could a-sot easy in it. Poor creeter! it made me feel bad to think he always sot on that hard board chair—not a sign of a cushion in it. I could have made a good cushion for it anyway out of hens’ feathers. And mebby he wouldn’t been so hard on the nations if he’d sot easier—it makes a sight of difference. Josiah wuz as hard agin on Ury when he had a bile on his back, and couldn’t set easy. I didn’t know but Ury would leave.
Wall, Philip lived here fourteen years, and when he come to die, he died hard, so they say. Mebby the oceans of blood he had caused to be shed kinder swashed up aginst his conscience; if it did, I hope the prayers he had knelt on the hard floor and prayed all night long sort o’ lifted him up some.