Why, before he had got half through, a stranger from another world who had never seen a woman, wouldn’t have had the least idee that they was made of clay as man was, but would have thought they was made of some thin gauze, liable at any minute to blow away, and that man’s only employment was to stand and watch ’em, for fear some zephyr would get the advantage of ’em. He called wimmin every pretty name he could think of, and says he, wavin’ his hands in the air in a rapped eloquence, and beatin’ his breast in the same he cried,
“Shall these weak, helpless angels, these seraphines, these sweet, delicate, cooin’ doves--whose only mission it is to sweetly coo--these rainbows, these posys vote? Never! my bretheren, never will we put such hardships upon ’em.”
As he sot down, he professed himself and all the rest of his sect ready to die at any time, and in any way wimmin should say, rather than they should vote, or have any other hardship. Betsey Bobbet wept aloud, she was so delighted with it.
Jest as they concluded thier frantic cheers over his speech, a thin, feeble lookin’ woman come by where I stood, drawin’ a large baby wagon with two children in it, seemin’ly a two-year-old, and a yearlin’. She also carried one in her arms who was lame. She looked so beat out and so ready to drop down, that I got up and give her my seat, and says I,
“Am I too late,” says she, “to hear my husband’s speech?”
“Is that your husband,” says I, “that is laughin’ and talkin’ with that pretty girl?”
“Yes,” says she with a sort of troubled look.
She looked ready to cry, and as I took the lame child from her breakin’ arms, says I--
“I wouldn’t mind gettin’ ’em on to the ground,” says she, “I haint had only three miles to bring ’em, that wouldn’t be much if it wasn’t for the work I had to do before I come.”
“What did you have to do?” says I in pityin’ accents.
“Oh, I had to fix him off, brush his clothes and black his boots, and then I did up all my work, and then I had to go out and make six length of fence--the cattle broke into the corn yesterday, and he was busy writin’ his piece, and couldn’t fix it--and then I had to mend his coat,” glancin’ at a thick coat in the wagon. “He didn’t know but he should want it to wear home, he knew he was goin’ to make a great effort, and thought he should sweat some, he is dreadful easy to take cold,” says she with a worried look.