Wall, if you’ll believe it, right on the top of these sufferin’s come a letter from a relation of Josiah’s, a widowed man by the name of Peter Tweedle.
He wuz a distant relation of Josiah Allen—lived about two hundred miles away.
He writ that he wuz lonesome—he had lost his companion for the third time, and it wore on him. He felt that the country air would do him good. (We found out afterwards that he had rented his house sence his bereavement and had lived in a boarding-house, and had been warned out by the crazed landlady and the infuriated boarders, owing to reasons which will appear hereafter, and had to move on).
Wall, he wanted to come and visit round to our house first, and then to the other relations.
And I sez to myself, it is one of ’em on his side, and not one word will I say agin the idee, not if I fall down in my tracks.
And Josiah was so kinder beat out with Melinda, and depressted and wore out by havin’ to go round in his stockin’ feet so much and whisperin’, that he said, “That any change would be a agreeable one, and he should write for Peter to come.”
And I, buoyed up by my principle, never said a word agin the idee, only jest this:
“Think well on it, Josiah Allen, before you make the move.”
And sez Josiah, “It will be a comfort to make a move of any kind.”
He had been kep’ awful still, I’ll admit. But I couldn’t see how it wuz goin’ to make it any better to have another relation let in, on whomsoever’s side they wuz.