And he said “he s'posed it was some sort of a headdress. Wimmen was so full of new names, he thought it was some new kind of a crowfar.”
I knew what he meant. He didn't mean crowfar, he meant crowfure. That is French. But I wouldn't hurt his feelin's by correctin' him; for I thought “fur” or “fure,” it didn't make much of any difference.
Wall, the very next day, when Josiah came from Jonesville,—he had been to mill,—he brought Cicely a letter from her aunt Mary. She wanted her to come on at once; for her daughter, who wus a runnin' down, wus supposed to be a runnin' faster than she had run. And her aunt Mary was goin' to start for the Michigan very soon,—as soon as she got well enough: she wasn't feelin' well when she wrote. And she wanted Cicely to come at once.
So she went the next day, but promised that jest as quick as she got through visitin' her aunt and her other relations there, she would come back here.
So she went; and I missed her dretfully, and should have missed her more if it hadn't been for the state my companion returned in after he had carried Cicely to the train.
He come home rampant with a new idee. All wrought up about goin' into politics. He broached the subject to me before he onharnessed, hitchin' the old mair for the purpose. He wanted to be United-States senator. He said he thought the nation needed him.
“Needs you for what?” says I coldly, cold as a ice suckle.