Says she, “Samantha, I am married; I am on my tower.”
I thought again, almost wildly, of burnt feathers, but I controlled myself, pretty well, and says:
“Who to?”
“Solemen Cypher,” says she. “We are goin’ to his brother’s on our tower.”
As she said this, it all came back to me—Solemen’s talk the day he came to borry my cloze for the mourners: her visits to his housekeeper sense; and his strange and foolish errents to our house from day to day. Why, he had made such strange and mysterious errents to our house since his wife died, that I had told Josiah “I believed Solemen Cypher wus a-loosin’ his faculties,” and I shouldn’t have been a mite surprised to have had him beset us to lend him a meetin’ house, or try to get the loan of an Egyptian mummy. Now I see through them strange and mysterious errents of his’n. But I didn’t speak my thoughts; I only said, almost mechanically:
“Widder Doodle, what under the sun hus put it into your head to marry?”
“Wall,” she said, she “had kinder got into the habit of marryin’, and it seemed some like 2nd nater to her, and she thought Solemen had some of Mr. Doodle’s liniment, and she thought she’d kinder marry to him, and——”
She tried to excuse it off, but she didn’t give any firm reason that carried conviction to my soul. But I says to myself, in reasonable axents:
“Samantha, can you—can you ever obtain anything to carry from an ort?”