“Why, where is their property all gone?” says I. “They was well off—Susan had five thousand dollars of her own when she married him.”
“I know it,” says she. “And I can tell you, Josiah Allen's wife, where their property is gone. It has gone down Philemon Clapsaddle's throat. Look down that man's throat, and you will see 150 acres of land, a good house and barns, 20 sheep, and 40 head of cattle.”
“Why-ee!” says I.
“Yes, you will see 'em all down that man's throat.” And says she, in still more bitter axents, “You will see four mules, and a span of horses, two buggies, a double sleigh, and three buffalo-robes. He has drinked 'em all up—and 2 horse-rakes, a cultivator, and a thrashin'-machine.
“Why! Why-ee!” says I agin. “And where are the children?”
“The boys have inherited their father's evil habits, and drink as bad as he duz; and the oldest girl has gone to the bad.”
“Oh, dear! oh, dear me!” says I. And we both sot silent for a spell. And then, thinkin' I must say sunthin', and wantin' to strike a safe subject, and a good-lookin' one, I says,—
“Where is your aunt Eunice'es girl? that pretty girl I see to your house once.”
“That girl is in the lunatick asylum.”
“Dorlesky Burpy!” says I. “Be you a tellin' the truth?”