“It come over me like a streak of lightenin’; every thin’ kinder slewed round, and I dropped in the first faint I ever had in my life. Next I knew Lisha was holdin’ of me and cryin’ fit to kill himself. I thought I was dreamin’, and only had wits enough to give a sort of permiscuous grab at him and call out: “‘Oh, Lisha! ain’t you drownded?’ He give a gret start at that, swallered down his sobbin’, and sez as lovin’ as ever a man did in this world: “‘Bless your dear heart, Cynthy, it warn’t me it was the pig;’ and then fell to kissin’ of me, till betwixt laughin’ and cryin’ I was most choked. Deary me, it all comes back so livin’ real it kinder takes my breath away.” And well it might, for the good soul entered so heartily into her story that she unconsciously embellished it with dramatic illustrations. At the slapping episode she flung an invisible “fork, dish, and pertaters” into an imaginary kettle, and glared; when the catastrophe arrived, she fell back upon her chair to express fainting; gave Christie’s arm the “permiscuous grab” at the proper moment, and uttered the repentant Lisha’s explanation with an incoherent pathos that forbid a laugh at the sudden introduction of the porcine martyr. “What did you do then?” asked Christie in a most flattering state of interest. “Oh, law! I went right home and hugged them children for a couple of hours stiddy,” answered Mrs; Wilkins, as if but one conclusion was possible. “Did all your troubles go down with the pig?” asked Christie, presently. “Massy, no, we’re all poor, feeble worms, and the best meanin’ of us fails too often,” sighed Mrs. Wilkins, as she tenderly adjusted the sleepy head of the young worm in her lap. “After that scrape I done my best; Lisha was as meek as a whole flock of sheep, and we give Mis Bascum a wide berth. Things went lovely for ever so long, and though, after a spell, we had our ups and downs, as is but natural to human creeters, we never come to such a pass agin. Both on us tried real hard; whenever I felt my temper risin’ or discontent comin’ on I remembered them days and kep’ a taut rein; and as for Lisha he never said a raspin’ word, or got sulky, but what he’d bust out laughin’ after it and say: ‘Bless you, Cynthy, it warn’t me, it was the pig.’” Mrs. Wilkins’ hearty laugh fired a long train of lesser ones, for the children recognized a household word. Christie enjoyed the joke, and even the tea-kettle boiled over as if carried away by the fun. “Tell some more, please,” said Christie, when the merriment subsided, for she felt her spirits rising.