“I should think so,” she said; “but I have never returned to my home or my people, and never shall.” And the tears rose in her eyes, and she got up and walked to the window, and said, with her back towards me, as if she was looking at the weather: “The doctor has a fine day for his journey; I hope he will return soon. I think you will like him.”
And then she came back and took her seat, as composed as if I had never awakened those sad thoughts. Poor thing! I knew what was passing in her mind, as well as if those eloquent tears had not touched my heart. Somehow or another, it appears to me, like a stumblin’ horse, I am always a-striking my foot agin some stone, or stump, or root, that any fellow might see with half an eye. She forced a smile, and said:
“Are you married, Sir?”
“Married,” sais I, “to be sure I am; I married Flora.”
“You must think me as innocent as she was, to believe that,” she said, and laughed at the idea. “How many children have you?”
“Seven,” sais I:
“Richard R., and Ira C.,
Betsey Anne, and Jessie B.,
Sary D., Eugeen—E,
And Iren—ee.”
“I have heard a great deal of you, Mr Slick,” she said, “but you are the queerest man I ever see. You talk so serious, and yet you are so full of fun.”
“That’s because I don’t pretend to nothin’, dear;” sais I, “I am just a nateral man. There is a time for all things, and a way to do ’em too. If I have to freeze down solid to a thing, why then, ice is the word. If there is a thaw, then fun and snow-ballin’ is the ticket. I listen to a preacher, and try to be the better for his argufying, if he has any sense, and will let me; and I listen to the violin, and dance to it, if it’s in tune, and played right. I like my pastime, and one day in seven is all the Lord asks. Evangelical people say he wants the other six. Let them state day and date and book and page for that, for I won’t take their word for it. So I won’t dance of a Sunday; but show me a pretty gall, and give me good music, and see if I don’t dance any other day. I am not a droll man, dear, but I say what I think, and do what I please, as long as I know I ain’t saying or doing wrong. And if that ain’t poetry, it’s truth, that’s all.”
“I wish you knew the doctor,” said she; “I don’t understand these things, but you are the only man I ever met that talked like him, only he hante the fun you have; but he enjoys fun beyond everything. I must say I rather like him, though he is odd, and I am sure you would, for you could comprehend many things he sais that I don’t.”