Then says I, drove out of all patience with her, “I wish you was there now, both of you, I wish,” says I, lookin’ fixedly on her, “I wish you was both of you in posterity now.” [Illustration] HAVING MY PICTURE TOOK. The very next Saturday after I had this conversation with Betsey, I went down to Jonesville to have my picture took, Tirzah Ann bein’ to home so she could get dinner for the menfolks. As for me I don’t set a great deal of store by pictures, but Josiah insisted and the children insisted, and I went. Tirzah Ann wanted me to have my hair curled, but there I was firm, I give in on the handkerchief pin, but on the curl business, there I was rock. Mr. Gansey the man that takes pictures was in another room takin’ some, so I walked round the aunty room, as they call it, lookin’ at the pictures that hang up on the wall, and at the people that come in to have theirs took. Some of ’em was fixed up dreadful; it seemed to me as if they tried to look so that nobody wouldn’t know whose pictures they was, after they was took. Some of ’em would take off their bunnets and gaze in the lookin’-glass at themselves and try to look smilin’, and get an expression onto their faces that they never owned. [Illustration: PREPARING FOR A PICTURE.] In one corner of the room was a bewrow, with a lookin’-glass and hair brushes onto it, and before it stood a little man dreadful dressed up, with long black hair streamin’ down over his coat coller, engaged in pouring a vial of oil onto his head, and brushing his hair with one of the brushes. I knew him in a minute, for I had seen him come into the meetin’ house. Afterwards when I was jest standin’ before the picture of a dreadful harmless lookin’ man--he looked meek enough to make excuses to his shadder for goin’ before it, and I was jest sayin’ to myself, “There is a man who would fry pancakes without complainin’,” I heard a voice behind me sayin’, “So the navish villian stalks round yet in decent society.” I turned round imegiately and see the little man, who had got through fixin’ his hair to have his pictur took, standin’ before me. “Who do you mean?” says I calmly. “Who is stalkin’ round?” “The Editor of the Gimlet,” says he, “whose vile image defiles the walls of this temple of art, the haunt of Aglia, Thalia, and Euphrosine.” “Who?” says I glancin’ keenly at him over my specks, “the haunt of who?” Says he “The daughters of Bachus and Venus.” Says I “I don’t know anything about Miss Bachus, nor the Venus girls,” and says I with spirit, “if they are any low creeters I don’t thank you for speakin’ of ’em to me, nor Josiah won’t neether. This room belongs to Jeremiah Gansey, and he has got a wife, a likely woman, that belongs to the same meetin’ house and the same class that I do, and he haint no business to have other girls hauntin’ his rooms. If there is anything wrong goin’ on I shall tell Sister Gansey.” Says he “Woman you mistake, I meant the Graces.”