Samantha at Saratoga by Marietta Holley (i read a book txt) đź“–
- Author: Marietta Holley
Book online «Samantha at Saratoga by Marietta Holley (i read a book txt) 📖». Author Marietta Holley
And he said (I mistrust his corns ached worse than common, or sunthin’), he said, he didn’t see as it wuz any better-natured than Jonesville or Loontown.
And I sez, “Yes it is, Josiah Allen.” Sez I, folks are happier here and more generous, the rich ones seem inclined to help them that need help to a little comfort and happiness. Jest as I have always said, Josiah Allen. When folks are happy, they are more inclined to do good.”
“Oh shaw!” sez Josiah. “That never made no difference with me.”
“What didn’t?” sez I.
“I’m always good,” sez he, and he snapped out the words real snappish, and loud.
And I sez mildly, “Wall, you needn’t bring the ruff down to prove your goodness.”
And he went on: “I don’t see as they are so pesky good here; I haint seen nothin’ of it.”
“Wall,” sez I, “when I look over Yaddo, and Hilton Park, it makes me reconciled, Josiah, to have men get rich; it makes me willin’, Josiah.”
And he sez (cross), He guessed men would get rich whether I wuz willin’ or not; he guessed they wouldn’t ask me.
“Wall, you needn’t snap my head off, Josiah Allen,” sez I, “because I love to see folks use their wealth to make pleasant places for poor folks to wander round in, and forget their own narrow rocky roads for a spell. It is a noble thing to do, Josiah Allen; they might have built high walls round ’em if they had been a mind to, and locked the gates and shet out all the poor and tired-out ones, But they didn’t, and I am highly tickled at the thought on’t, Josiah Allen.”
“Wall, I don’t shet up our sugar lot, do I? and I have never heerd you say one word a praisin’ me up for that.”
“That is far different, Josiah Allen,” sez I, “there is nothin’ there that can git hurt, only stumps. And you have never laid out a cent of money on it. And they have spent thousands and thousands of dollars; and the poorest little child in Saratoga, if it has beauty-lovin’ eyes, can go in and enjoy these places jest as much as the owners can. And it is a sweet thought to me, Josiah Allen.”
“Oh wall,” sez he, “you have probable said enough about it.”
Now I never care for the last word, some wimmen do, but I never do. But still I wuzn’t goih’ to be shet right eff from talkin’ about these places, and I intimated as much to him, and he said, “Dumb it all! I could talk about ’em all day, if I wanted to, and about Demorist’s Woods too.”
“Wall,” sez I, “that is another place, Josiah Allen, that is a likely well-meanin’ spot. Middlin’ curius to look at,” sez I, reesonably. “It makes one’s head feel sort a strange to see them criss-cross, curius poles, and floors up in trees, and ladders, and teterin’ boards, and springs, etc., etc., etc. But it is a well-meanin’ spot, Josiah Allen. And it highly tickled me to think that the little fresh air children wuz brung up there by the owner of the woods and the poor little creeters, out of their dingy dirty homes, and filthy air, wandered round for one happy day in the green woods, in the fresh air and sunshine. That wuz a likely thing to do, Josiah Allen, and it raises a man more in my estimation when he’s doin’ sech things as that, than to set up in a political high chair, and have a lot of dirty hands clapped, and beery breaths a cheerin’ him on up the political arena.”
“Oh wall,” sez Josiah, “the doin’s in them woods is enough to make anybody a dumb lunatick. The crazyest lookin’ lot of stuff I ever set eyes on.”
“Wall, anyway,” sez I, “it is a good crazy, if it is, and a well-meanin’ one.”
“Oh, how cross Josiah Allen did look as he heered me say these words. That man can’t bear to hear me say one word a praisin’ up another man, and it grows on him.
But good land! I am a goin’ to speak out my mind as long as my breath is spared. And I said quite a number of words more about the deep enjoyment it gin’ me to see these broad, pleasure grounds free for all, rich and poor, bond and free, hombly and handsome, etc., etc.
And I spoke about the charitable houses, St. Christiana’s home, and the Home for Old Female Wimmen, and mentioned the fact in warm tones of how a good, noble-hearted woman had started that charity in the first on’t.
And Josiah, while I wuz talkin’ about these wimmen, became meak as a lamb. They seemed to quiet him. He looked real mollyfied by the time Ardelia got there, which wuz anon. And then we sot sail for the Encampment.
The Encampment is encamped on one end of a big, square, wild-lookin’ lot right back of one of the biggest tarvens in Saratoga. It is jest as wild lookin’ and appeerin’ a field as there is in the outskirts of Loontown or Jonesville. Why Uncle Grant Hozzleton’s stunny pasture don’t look no more sort a broke up and rural than that duz. I wondered some why they had it there, and then I thought mebby they kep’ it to remember Nater by, old Nater herself, that runs a pretty small chance to be thought on in sech a place as this.
You know there is so much orniment and gildin’ and art in the landscape and folks, that mebby they might forget the great mother of us all, that is, right in the thickest of the crowd they might, but they have only to take these few steps and they will see Ma Nater with her every-day dress on, not fixed up a mite. And I s’pose she looks good to ’em.
I myself think that Mother Nater might smooth herself out a little there with no hurt to herself or her children. I don’t believe in Mas goin’ round with their dresses onhooked, and slip-shod, and their hair all stragglin’ out of their combs. (I say this in metafor. I don’t spose Ma Nater ever wore a back comb or had hooks and eyes on her gown; I say it for oritory, and would wish to be took in a oritorius way.
And I don’t say right out, that the reeson I have named is the one why they keep that place a lookin’ so like furey, I said, mebby. But I will say this, that it is a wild-lookin’ spot, and hombly.
Wall, on the upper end on’t, standin’ up on the top of a sort of a hill, the Indian Encampment is encamped. There is a hull row of little stores, and there is swings, and public diversions of different kinds, krokay grounds, etc., etc., etc.
Wall, Ardelia stopped at one of these stores kep’ by a Injun, not a West, but a East one, and began to price some wooden bracelets, and try ’em on, and Josiah and me wandered on.
And anon, we came to a tent with some good verses of Scripter on it; good solid Bible it wuz; and so I see it wuz a good creeter in there anyway. And I asked a bystander a standin’ by, Who wuz in there, and Why, and When?
And he said it wuz a fortune-teller who would look in the pamm of my hand, and tell me all my fortune that wuz a passin’ by. And I said I guessed I would go in, for I would love to know how the children wuz that mornin’ and whether the baby had got over her cold. I hadn’t heerd from ’em in over two days.
Josiah kinder hung ’round outside though he wuz willin’ to have me go in. He jest worships the children and the baby. And he sees the texts from Job on it, with his own eyes.
So I bid him a affectionate farewell, and we see the woman a lookin’ out of the tent and witnessin’ on’t. But I didn’t care. If a pair of companions and a pair of grandparents can’t act affectionate, who can? And the world and the Social Science meetin’ might try in vain to bring up any reeson why they shouldn’t.
So I went in, with my mind all took up with the grandchildern. But the first words she sez to me wuz, as she looked close at the pamm of my hand, “Keep up good spirits, Mom; you will get him in spite of all opposition.”
“Get who?” sez I, “And what?”
“A man you want to marry. A small baldheaded man, a amiable-lookin’, slender man. His heart is sot on you. And all the efferts of the light-complected woman in the blue hat will be in vain to break it up. Keep up good courage, you will marry him in spite of all,” sez she, porin’ over my pamm and studyin’ it as if it wuz a jography.
“For the land’s sake!” sez I, bein’ fairly stunted with the idees she promulgated.
“Yes, you will marry him, and be happy. But you have had a sickness in the past and your line of happiness has been broken once or twice.”
Sez I, “I should think as much; let a woman live with a man, the best man in the world for 20 years, and if her line of happiness haint broke more than once or twice, why it speaks well for the line, that is all. It is a good, strong line.”
“Then you have been married?” says she.
“Yes, Mom,” sez I.
“Oh, I see, down in the corner of your hand is a coffin, you are a widow, you have seen trouble. But you will be happy. The mild, bald gentleman will make you happy. He will lead you to the altar in spite of the light-complected woman with the blue bat on.”
Ardelia Tutt had on a blue hat, the idee! But I let her go on. Thinkses I, “I have paid my money and now it stands me in hand to get the worth on’t.” So she comferted me up with the hope of gettin’ my Josiah for quite a spell.
Gettin’ my pardner! Gettin’ the father of my childern, and the grandparent of my grandchildren! Jest think on’t, will you?
But then she branched off and told me things that wuz truly wonderful. Where and how she got ’em wuz and is a mistery to me. True things, and strange.
Why it seemed same as if them tall pines, that wuz a whisperin’ together over the Encampment wuz a peerin’ over into my past, and a whisperin’ it down to her. Or, in some way or other, the truth wuz a bein’ filtered down to her comprehension through some avenue beyond our sense or sight.
It is a curious thing, so I think, and so Josiah thinks. We talked it over after I came out, and we wuz a wanderin’ on about the Encampment. I told him some of the wonderful things she had told me and he didn’t believe it. “For,” sez he, “I’ll be hanged if I can understand and I won’t believe anything that I can’t understand!”
And I pointed with the top of my umberel at a weed growin’ by the side of the road, and sez I, “When you tell me jest how that weed draws out of the back ground jest the ingredients she needs to make her blue foretop, and her green gown, then I’ll tell you all about this secret that Nater holds back from us a spell, but will reveel to us when the time comes.”
“Oh shaw!” sez Josiah, “I guess I know all about a jimson weed. Why they grow; that is all there is about them. They grow, dumb ’em. I guess if you’d broke your back as many times as I have a pullin’ ’em up, yon would know all about’ em. Dumb their dumb picters,” sez he, a scowlin’ at ’em.
It wuz the same kind of weed that growed in our onion beds. I recognized it. Them and white daisies, our garden wuz overrun by ’em both.
But I sez, “Can you tell how the little seed of this weed goes down into the earth and selects jest what she wants out of the great storehouse below? She never comes out in a pink head-dress or a yellow gown.
Comments (0)