Sweet Cicely — or Josiah Allen as a PoliticianHolley, Marietta
Religion
Sweet Cicely — or Josiah Allen as a Politician
Holley, Marietta
Methodist Church (U.S.) -- Fiction; Temperance and religion -- Fiction; Women -- Suffrage -- Fiction
I noticed them lips and that chin the very minute Josiah brought him
into the settin'-room, and set him down; and my eyes looked dubersome at
him through my specks. Cicely see it, see that dubersome look, though
I tried to turn it off by kissin' him jest as hearty as I could after
I had took the little black-robed figure of his mother, and hugged her
close to my heart, and kissed her time and time agin.
She always dressed in the deepest of mournin', and always would. I knew
that.
Wall, we wus awful glad to see Cicely. I had had the old fireplace fixed
in the front spare room, and a crib put in there for the boy; and I went
right up to her room with her. And when we had got there, I took her
right in my arms agin, as I used to, and told her how glad I wus, and
how thankful I wus, to have her and the boy with us.
The fire sparkled up on the old brass handirons as warm as my welcome.
Her bed and the boy's bed looked white and cozy aginst the dark red
of the carpet and the cream-colored paper. And after I had lowered the
pretty ruffled muslin curtains (with red ones under 'em), and pulled
a stand forward, and lit a lamp,--it wus sundown,--the room looked
cheerful enough for anybody, and it seemed as if Cicely looked a little
less white and brokenhearted. She wus glad to be with me, and said
she wuz. But right there--before supper; and we could smell the roast
chicken and coffee, havin' left the stair-door open--right there, before
we had visited hardly any, or talked a mite about other wimmen, she
begun on what she wanted to do, and what she _must_ do, for the boy.
I had told her how the boy had grown, and that sot her off. And from
that night, every minute of her time almost, when she could without
bein' impolite and troublesome (Cicely wus a perfect lady, inside and
out), she would talk to me about what she wanted to do for the boy, to
have the laws changed before he grew up; she didn't dare to let him go
out into the world with the laws as they was now, with temptation on
every side of him.
[Illustration: THE SPARE ROOM.]
“You know, aunt Samantha,” she says to me, “that I wanted to die when my
husband died; but I want to live now. Why, I _must_ live; I cannot
die, I dare not die until my boy is safer. I will work, I will die if
necessary, for him.”
It wus the same old Cicely, I see, not carin' for herself, but carin'
only for them she loved. Lovin' little creeter, good little creeter, she
always wuz, and always would be. And so I told Josiah.
Wall, we had the boy set between us to the supper-table, Josiah and me
did, in Thomas Jefferson's little high-chair. I had new covered it on
purpose for him with bright copperplate calico.
And that night at supper, and after supper, I judged, and judged
calmly,--we made the estimate after we went to bed, Josiah and me
did,--that the boy asked 3 thousand and 85 questions about every thing
under the sun and moon, and things over 'em, and outside of 'em, and
inside.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account