And he sithed so loud, that it sounded considerable like a groan. Solemen takes her death hard. He sithed two or three times right along; and the widder sithed too. It was dretful affectin’ to hear ’em go on; and if I hadn’t been so busy, I don’t know but it would have drawed tears from me. But I was jest puttin’ in my sweetnin’ into my cherry pies, and I felt it my duty to be calm. So I composed myself, and kep’ on with my work, and heard ’em a talkin’ and a sympathizin’ with each other. “Oh!” Solemen, in a mournful voice, “I can tell you, widder Doodle, there are tender memories in my heart for that wemen. When I think how good dispositioned she was, how she would get up and build fires in the winter, without saying a word, it seemed as if my heart must break.” “I love to build fires,” says sister Doodle. “I always used to build the fire, when I was a livin’ with my Doodle.” “Did you, widder? I wished you had known the corpse. I believe you would have loved each other like sisters.” His tone sounded considerable chirker than it had sounded, and he went on. “I believe you look like her, widder. You look out of your eyes as she looked out of her’n; you put me in mind of her.” The widder’s voice seemed something chirker, too, and, says she, “You must chirk up, Mr. Cypher, you must look forward to happier days.” “I know it,” and he put on the tone he used to evenin’ meetin’s. “I know there is another spear, and I try to keep my mind on it; a happy spear, where hired girls are unknown, and partin’s are no more.” “I hate hired girls,” says sister Doodle, almost warmly. “Do you, widder? Do you hate ’em?” says he, in almost glad tones, and then says he, in real convinced axents, “You do look like her, I know you do; I can see it plainer and plainer every minute. Oh! what a wemen she was! So afraid of infringin’ on men. She new her place so well. I couldn’t have made that wemen think she was my equal; not if I had knocked her down. How many times she had said to me that no wemen was strong enough to go to the poles, and she had rather dig potatoes any time, than to vote. She was as good as a man at that. Many a time, when I would get backward with my fall’s work, she would go out on the lot, and dig as fast as I could.” “I love to dig potatoes,” says sister Doodle, “and no money would have me to vote.” “You do look like her, widder. If my own father disputed me on it, I’d stand my ground. You look like her, you make me think on her.” “Well, then, you must think on me all you can; don’t be delicate about it at all. I’d love to think I could chirk you up, and be a comfort to you, in that way, or any other.” “You do chirk me up, widder. I feel better than I did feel, when I came here to-day.” “Well, then, you must come and be chirked up, oftener.” “I will, widder.” “Come Sunday night, or any time.” “I will, widder, I will.”