Online Book Reader

Home Category

Samantha at Saratoga [10]

By Root 498 0
the world must enrich us with its richest emmolients. Will you see that we have it! Will you at once do as I asked you to? Will you seat her immegately where I want her sot? Sez I, considerin', "I can't get her up there alone, I haint strong enough." Sez I, sort a mekanikly, "I have got the rheumatez." "So you scoff me do you? I came to you to get bread, am I to get worse than a stun -- a scoff?" "I haint gin you no scoff," sez I, a spunkin' up a little, "I haint thought on it. I like Ardelia and wish her well, but I can't do merikles, I can't compel the public to like things if they don't." Sez Miss Tutt, "You are jealous of her, you hate her." "No, I don't," sez I, "I haint jealous of her, and I like her looks first-rate. I love a pretty young girl," sez I candidly, "jest as I love a fresh posy with the dew still on it, a dainty rose-bud with the sweet fragrance layin' on its half-folded heart. I love 'em," sez I, a beginnin' to eppisode a little unbeknown to me, "I love 'em jest as I love the soft unbroken silence of the early spring mornin', the sun all palely tinted with rose and blue, and the earth alayin' calm and unwoke-up, fresh and fair. I love such a mornin' and such a life, for itself and for the unwritten prophecis in it. And when I see genius in such a sweet, young life, why it makes me feel as it duz to see through all the tender prophetic beauty of the mornin' skies, a big white dove a soarin' up through the blue heavens." Sez Miss Tutt, "You see that in Ardelia, but you wont own it, you know you do." "No!" sez I, "I would love to tell you that I see it in Ardelia; I would honest, but I can't look into them mornin' skies and say I see a white dove there, when I don't see nothin' more than a plump pullet, a jumpin' down from the fence or a pickin' round calmly in the back door-yard. Jest as likely the hen is, as the white dove, jest as honerable, but you mustn't confound the two together." "A hen," sez Miss Tutt bitterly. "To confound my Ardelia with a hen! And I don't think there wuz ever a more ironieler `hen' than that wuz, or a scornfuller one." "Why," sez I reasonably. "Hens are necessary and useful in any position, both walkin' and settin', and layin'. You can't get'em in any position hardly, but what they are useful and respectable, only jest flyin'. Hens can't fly. Their wings haint shaped for it. They look some like a dove's wings on the outside, the same feathers, the same way of stretchin' 'em out. But there is sunthin lackin' in 'em, some heaven-given capacity for soarin' an for flight that the hens don't have. And it makes trouble, sights and sights of trouble when hens try to fly, try to, and can't! "At the same time it is hard for a dove to settle down in a back yard and stay there, hard and tegus. She can and duz sometimes, but never till after her wings have been clipped in some way. Poor little dove! I am always sorry for 'em to see 'em a walkin' round there, a wantin' to fly -- a not forgettin' how it seemed to have their wings soarin' up through the clear sky, and the rush of the pure liquid windwaves a sweepin' aginst 'em, as they riz up, up, in freedom, and happiness, and glory. Poor little creeters. "Yes, but doves can, if you clip their wings, settle down and walk, but hens CAN'T fly, not for any length of time they can't. No amount of stimulatin' poultices applied to the ends of their tail feathers and wings can ever make 'em fly. They can't; it haint their nater. They can make nests, and fill them with pretty downy chicks, they can be happy and beautiful in life and mean; they can spend their lives in jest as honerable and worthy a way as if they wuz a flyin' round, and make a good honerable appearance from day to day, till they begin to flop their wings, and fly -- then their mean is not beautiful and inspirin'; no, it is fur from it. It is tuff to see 'em, tuff to see the floppin', tuff to see their vain efforts to soar through the air, tuff to see 'em fall percepitously down onto the ground agin. For they must come there in the end; they are morally certain
Return Main Page Previous Page Next Page

®Online Book Reader