“Wall, then,” says I, coolly, “you had better let well enough alone.” But says she: “Folks go for a rest. Whitfield and I thought we would go for a rest.” “Rest from what?” says I. Says I, “don’t you and Whitfield feel fresh and rested every mornin’, ready to take up the laber of the day with a willin’ heart?” Says I, “Do you either on you have any more work to do than is good for your health to do? Don’t you find plenty of time for rest and recreation, every day as you go along?” Says I, “It is with health jist as it is with cleanin’ house: I don’t believe in lettin’ things get all run down and nasty, and then, once a year, tear everything to pieces, and do up all the hull cleanin’ of a year to once, and then let everything go agin for another year. No! I believe in keepin’ things slick and comfortable day by day, and year by year. In business, have a daily mixture of cleanin’ and comfort—in health, have a daily mixture of laber, recreation and rest.” Says I, takin’ breath: “I mean for folks like you and Whitfield, who can do so. Of course, some have to work beyond their strength—let them take their rest and comfort when they can git it. Better take it once a year, like a box of pills, than not at all. But as for you and Whitfield, I say agin, in the words of the poet, ‘Better let well enough alone.’” But says she: “I want to do as other folks do. I am bound to not let Mrs. Skidmore get the upper hand of me. I want to be genteel.” “Wall,” says I, “if you are determined to foller them paths, Tirzah Ann, you mustn’t come to your ma for advice. She knows nothin’ about them pathways; she never walked in ’em.” “Mrs. Skidmore,” says she, “said that all the aristocracy of Janesville will go away for the summer for a change, and I thought a change would do Whitfield and me good.” “A change!” says I, in low axents, a-lookin’ round the charming, lovely prospect, the clean, cool cottage, with its open doors and windows, and white, ruffled curtains swayin’ in the cool breeze; the green, velvet grass, the bright flower beds, the climbing, blossoming vines, the birds singing in the orchard, the blue lake layin’ so calm and peaceful in the distance, shinin’ over the green hills and forests, and the wide, cloudless sky bending above all like a benediction. “A change,” says I, in low, tremblin’ tones of emotion. “Eve wanted a change in Paradise, and she got it, too.” But, says Tirzah Ann, for my axents impressed her fearfully: “Don’t you believe in a change for the summer? Don’t you think they are healthy?” I didn’t go onto the heights and depths of filosofy, on which I so many times had flew and doven; she had heard my soarin’ idees on the subject time and time again; and eloquence, when it is as soarin’ and lofty as mine, is dretful tuckerin’, especially after doin’ a hard day’s work, so I merely said, tacklin’ another side of the subject, says I: