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1It was a mighty nice family, and a mighty nice house, too. I hadn't seen no house out in the country before that was so
2nice and had so much style. It didn't have an iron latch on the front door, nor a wooden one with a buckskin string, but
3a brass knob to turn, the same as houses in town. There warn't no bed in the parlor, nor a sign of a bed; but heaps of
4parlors in towns has beds in them. There was a big fireplace that was bricked on the bottom, and the bricks was kept
5clean and red by pouring water on them and scrubbing them with another brick; sometimes they wash them over with red
6water-paint that they call Spanish-brown, same as they do in town. They had big brass dog-irons that could hold up a
7saw-log. There was a clock on the middle of the mantelpiece, with a picture of a town painted on the bottom half of the
8glass front, and a round place in the middle of it for the sun, and you could see the pendulum swinging behind it. It
9was beautiful to hear that clock tick; and sometimes when one of these peddlers had been along and scoured her up and
10got her in good shape, she would start in and strike a hundred and fifty before she got tuckered out. They wouldn't took
11any money for her. Well, there was a big outlandish parrot on each side of the clock, made out of something like chalk,
12and painted up gaudy. By one of the parrots was a cat made of crockery, and a crockery dog by the other; and when you
13pressed down on them they squeaked, but didn't open their mouths nor look different nor interested. They squeaked
14through underneath. There was a couple of big wild-turkey-wing fans spread out behind those things. On the table in the
15middle of the room was a kind of a lovely crockery basket that had apples and oranges and peaches and grapes piled up in
16it, which was much redder and yellower and prettier than real ones is, but they warn't real because you could see where
17pieces had got chipped off and showed the white chalk, or whatever it was, underneath. This table had a cover made out
18of beautiful oilcloth, with a red and blue spread-eagle painted on it, and a painted border all around. It come all the
19way from Philadelphia, they said. There was some books, too, piled up perfectly exact, on each corner of the table. One
20was a big family Bible full of pictures. One was Pilgrim's Progress, about a man that left his family, it didn't say
21why. I read considerable in it now and then. The statements was interesting, but tough. Another was Friendship's
22Offering, full of beautiful stuff and poetry; but I didn't read the poetry. Another was Henry Clay's Speeches, and
23another was Dr. Gunn's Family Medicine, which told you all about what to do if a body was sick or dead. There was a hymn
24book, and a lot of other books. And there was nice split-bottom chairs, and perfectly sound, too--not bagged down in the
25middle and busted, like an old basket. They had pictures hung on the walls--mainly Washingtons and Lafayettes, and
26battles, and Highland Marys, and one called "Signing the Declaration." There was some that they called crayons, which
27one of the daughters which was dead made her own self when she was only fifteen years old. They was different from any
28pictures I ever see before--blacker, mostly, than is common. One was a woman in a slim black dress, belted small under
29the armpits, with bulges like a cabbage in the middle of the sleeves, and a large black scoop-shovel bonnet with a black
30veil, and white slim ankles crossed about with black tape, and very wee black slippers, like a chisel, and she was
31leaning pensive on a tombstone on her right elbow, under a weeping willow, and her other hand hanging down her side
32holding a white handkerchief and a reticule, and underneath the picture it said "Shall I Never See Thee More Alas."
33Another one was a young lady with her hair all combed up straight to the top of her head, and knotted there in front of
34a comb like a chair-back, and she was crying into a handkerchief and had a dead bird laying on its back in her other
35hand with its heels up, and underneath the picture it said "I Shall Never Hear Thy Sweet Chirrup More Alas." There was
36one where a young lady was at a window looking up at the moon, and tears running down her cheeks; and she had an open
37letter in one hand with black sealing wax showing on one edge of it, and she was mashing a locket with a chain to it
38against her mouth, and underneath the picture it said "And Art Thou Gone Yes Thou Art Gone Alas." These was all nice
39pictures, I reckon, but I didn't somehow seem to take to them, because if ever I was down a little they always give me
40the fan-tods. Everybody was sorry she died, because she had laid out a lot more of these pictures to do, and a body
41could see by what she had done what they had lost. But I reckoned that with her disposition she was having a better time
42in the graveyard. She was at work on what they said was her greatest picture when she took sick, and every day and every
43night it was her prayer to be allowed to live till she got it done, but she never got the chance. It was a picture of a
44young woman in a long white gown, standing on the rail of a bridge all ready to jump off, with her hair all down her
45back, and looking up to the moon, with the tears running down her face, and she had two arms folded across her breast,
46and two arms stretched out in front, and two more reaching up towards the moon--and the idea was to see which pair would
47look best, and then scratch out all the other arms; but, as I was saying, she died before she got her mind made up, and
48now they kept this picture over the head of the bed in her room, and every time her birthday come they hung flowers on
49it. Other times it was hid with a little curtain. The young woman in the picture had a kind of a nice sweet face, but
50there was so many arms it made her look too spidery, seemed to me. This young girl kept a scrap-book when she was alive,
51and used to paste obituaries and accidents and cases of patient suffering in it out of the Presbyterian Observer, and
52write poetry after them out of her own head. It was very good poetry. This is what she wrote about a boy by the name of
53Stephen Dowling Bots that fell down a well and was drownded: ODE TO STEPHEN DOWLING BOTS, DEC'D And did young Stephen
54sicken, And did young Stephen die? And did the sad hearts thicken, And did the mourners cry? No; such was not the fate
55of Young Stephen Dowling Bots; Though sad hearts round him thickened, 'Twas not from sickness' shots. No whooping-cough
56did rack his frame, Nor measles drear with spots; Not these impaired the sacred name Of Stephen Dowling Bots. Despised
57love struck not with woe That head of curly knots, Nor stomach troubles laid him low, Young Stephen Dowling Bots. O no.
58Then list with tearful eye, Whilst I his fate do tell. His soul did from this cold world fly By falling down a well.
59They got him out and emptied him; Alas it was too late; His spirit was gone for to sport aloft In the realms of the good
60and great.
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