She worshipped him, as I said at first, under a fur collar. And then, when a woman once gets to lovin' a man as she did, why, she can't help herself, chin or no chin. When a woman has once throwed herself in front of her idol, it hain't so much matter whether it is stuffed full of gold, or holler: it hain't so much matter _what_ they be, I think. Curius, hain't it? It hain't the easiest thing in the world for such a woman as Cicely to love, but it is a good deal easier for her than to unlove, as she found out afterwards. For twice before her marriage she saw him out of his head with liquor; and it wus my advice to her, to give him up. And she tried to unlove him, tried to give him up. But, good land! she might jest as well have took a piece of her own heart out, as to take out of it her love for him: it had become a part of her. And he told her she could save him, her influence could redeem him, and it wus the only thing that could save him. And Cicely couldn't stand such talk, of course; and she believed him--believed that she could love him so well, throw her influence so around him, as to hold him back from any evil course. It is a beautiful hope, the very beautifulest and divinest piece of folly a woman can commit. Beautiful enough in the sublime martyrdom of the idee, to make angels smile; and vain enough, and foolish enough in its utter uselessness, to make sinners weep. It can't be done--not in 98 cases out of a 100 at least. Why, if a man hain't got love enough for a woman when he is tryin' to win her affection,--when he is on probation, as you may say,--to stop and turn round in his downward course, how can she expect he will after he has got her, and has let down his watch, so to speak? But she loved him. And when I warned her with tears in my eyes, warned her that mebby it wus more than her own safety and happiness that wus imperilled, I could see by the look in her eyes, though she didn't say much, that it wusn't no use for me to talk; for she wus one of the constant natures that can't wobble round. And though I don't like wobblin', still I do honestly believe that the wobblers are happier than them that can't wobble. I could see jest how it wuz, and I couldn't bear to have her blamed. And I would tell folks,--some of the relations on her mother's side,--when they would say, “What a fool she wus to have him!”--I'd say to 'em, “Wall, when a woman sees the man she loves goin' down to ruination, and tries to unlove him, she'll find out jest how much harder it is to unlove him than to love him in the first place: they'll find out it is a tough job to tackle.” [Illustration: SAMANTHA AND THE “BLAMERS.”]