“Yes, there is memories of sorrows borne by both, and so made holier and more blessed than happiness. That head has bent with mine over a little coffin, and over open graves, when he shared my anguish. And stood by me under the silent stars, when he shared my prayers, my hopes, for the future.
“That old bald head stands up on the most sacred height of my heart, like a beacon; the glow of the soul shines on it; love gilds it. And do you s'pose any other feller's head on earth could ever look so good to me as that duz? Do you s'pose I will ever have it repaired upon? never! I won't repair him. I won't have him dickered and fooled with. Not at all.
“He'd look better to me than any other feller that ever walked on earth if he hadn't a tooth left in his head, or a hair on his scalp. As long as Josiah Allen has got body enough left to wrap round his soul, and keep it down here on earth, my heart is hisen, every mite of it, jest as he is too.
“And I'll thank the neighbors to mind their own business!” says I, kinder comin' to agin. For truly, I had soared up high above my kitchen, and gossipin' neighbors, and feller-agents, and all other tribulations. And as I lit down agin (as it were), I see he was a standin' on one foot, with his watch, a big silver one, in his hand, and gazin' pensively onto it; and he says,—
“Your remarks are worthy, mom—but somewhat lengthy,” says he, in a voice of pain; “nearly nine moments long: but,” says he, sort o' bracin' up agin on both feet, “I beg of you not to be too hasty. I did not come into this neighborhood to make dissensions or broils. I merely stated that I got the idee, from what they said, that your feller didn't work good.”
“Didn't work good! You impudent creeter you! What of it? What if he don't work at all? What earthly business is it of yourn or the neighbors? I guess he is able to lay by for a few days if he wants to.”
“You are laborin' under a mistake, mom.”
“No, I hain't laborin' under no mistake! And don't you tell me agin that I be. We have got a good farm all paid for, and money out on interest; and whose business is it whether he works all day, or don't. When I get to goin' round to see who works, and who don't; and when I get so low as to watch my neighbors the hull of the time, to find out every minute they set down; when I can't find nothin' nobler to do,—I'll spend my time talkin' about hens' teeth, and lettis seed.”
Says he, lookin' as amiable and patient as a factory-cloth rag-babe, but as determined as a weepin' live one, with the colic,—
“You don't seem to get my meaning. I merely wished to remark that I could fix over your feller if you wanted me to”—