And she talked a sight about her children, and how bad she felt to be parted from ’em, and how she used to worship her husband and how her hull life wuz ruined and the Whiskey Ring had done it, that and wimmen’s helpless condition under the law and she cried and wep’ and I did. And right while I wuz cryin’ onto that gingham apron, she made me promise to carry them two errents of hern to the President and git ’em done for her if I possibly could. She wanted the Whiskey Ring destroyed and her rights, and she wanted ’em both inside of two weeks. I told her I didn’t believe she could git ’em done inside that length of time, but I would tell the President about it, and I thought more’n likely as not he would want to do right by her. “And,” sez I, “if he sets out to, he can haul them babies of yourn out of that Ring pretty sudden.” And then to git her mind offen her sufferin’s, I asked how her sister Azuba wuz gittin’ along? I hadn’t heard from her for years. She married Phileman Clapsaddle, and Serepty spoke out as bitter as a bitter walnut, and sez she: “She’s in the poor-house.” “Why, Serepta Pester!” sez I, “what do you mean?” “I mean what I say, my sister, Azuba Clapsaddle, is in the poor-house.” “Why, where is their property gone?” sez I. “They wuz well off. Azuba had five thousand dollars of her own when she married him.” “I know it,” sez she, “and I can tell you, Josiah Allen’s wife, where their property has gone, it has gone down Phileman Clapsaddle’s throat. Look down that man’s throat and you will see 150 acres of land, a good house and barn, twenty sheep and forty head of cattle.” “Why-ee!” sez I. “Yes, and you’ll see four mules, a span of horses, two buggies, a double sleigh, and three buffalo robes. He’s drinked ’em all up, and two horse rakes, a cultivator, and a thrashin’ machine.” “Why-ee!” sez I agin. “And where are the children?” “The boys have inherited their father’s habits and drink as bad as he duz and the oldest girl has gone to the bad.” “Oh dear! oh dear me!” sez I, and we both sot silent for a spell. And then thinkin’ I must say sunthin’ and wantin’ to strike a safe subject and a good lookin’ one, I sez: “Where is your Aunt Cassandra’s girl? That pretty girl I see to your house once?” “That girl is in the lunatick asylum.” “Serepta Pester,” sez I, “be you tellin’ the truth?”