I fixed ’em as well as I could, but they looked pretty bad, and then there they was all covered with jell too. What to do I didn’t know. But finally I told him I would put my shawl onto him. So I doubled it up corner ways, as big as I could, so it almost touched the ground behind, and he walked back to the table with me. I told him it was best to tell the company all about it, but he jest put his foot down that he wouldn’t, and I told him if he wouldn’t that he must make his own excuses to the company about wearin’ the shawl. So he told ’em that he always loved to wear summer shawls, he thought it made a man look so dressy.
But he looked as if he would sink, all the time he was a sayin’ it. They all looked dretful curious at him, and he looked as meachin’ as if he had stole a sheep, and he never took a minute’s comfort nor I nuther. He was sick all the way back to the shore and so was I. And jest as we got into our wagons and started for home, the rain begun to pour down. The wind turned our old umberell inside out in no time; my lawn dress was most spilte before, and now I give up my bunnet. And I says to Josiah:
“This bunnet and dress are spilte, Josiah Allen, and I shall have to buy some new ones.”
“Wall! wall! who said you wouldn’t!” he snapped out.
But it wore on him. Oh, how the rain poured down. Josiah havin’ nothin’ but his handkerchief on his head felt it more than I did. I had took a apron to put on a gettin’ dinner, and I tried to make him let me pin it on to his head. But, says he, firmly:
“I haint proud and haughty, Samantha, but I do feel above ridin’ out with a pink apron on for a hat.”
“Wall, then,” says I, “get as wet as sop if you had rather.”
I didn’t say no more, but there we jest sot and suffered. The rain poured down, the wind howled at us, the old mare went slow, the rheumatiz laid hold of both of us, and the thought of the new bunnet and dress was a wearin’ on Josiah, I knew.
There wasn’t a house for the first 7 miles, and after we had got there I thought we wouldn’t go in, for we had to get home to milk, any way, and we was both as wet as we could be. After I had beset him about the apron, we didn’t say hardly a word for as much as 13 miles or so; but I did speak once, as he leaned forward with the rain a-drippin’ offen his bandanna handkerchief onto his white pantaloons. I says to him in stern tones: