CAPT. G. Wall, I snum, yer as bad as the lectur’-woman Pete Rosson told on. He said she said wimmen ortter have their own private pusses, same’s the men, and other things tew; and that the Legislater ort to see tew’t, but that they was tew busy,—trying to settle the size of a bar’l o’ cramberries, an’ talkin’ baout sellin’ eggs by weight, and sich things,—to care what becomes o’ wimmin’s rights. Sellin’ eggs by weight! what durned nonsense! Some on ’em would take twenty to make a paound, and some wouldn’t take mor’n eight, an’ where’d yer cookin’ go ter, I’d like ter know? MRS. G. Waal, Nathan, I don’t care nuthin’ abaout that! I shall put twelve eggs inter my old-fashioned paound cake, as the recipee sez, whether they’re big or little. But I do care about the caarf. I’d almost rather you’d ’a’ sold _me_! CAPT. G. Wall, I vum to vummy! MRS. G. You knew haow much I allus tho’t on her ’cause little Sally loved her so; an’ ’afore she died she’d be’n a-readin’ some o’ them old pictur’-books, an’ she said the caarf had eyes just like one on ’em in it, an’ so she named the caarf May Donna, or some sich name. (_Wipes her eyes._) CAPT. G. Consarn it all! Lorany, don’t cry! There! There! I’ll pick up the money, Lorany, I’ll pick up the money. (_Aside_) I wonder if there _is_ anything in them wimmin’s rights, after all! (_Puts the money in his pocket. Sits in chair tipped back against the wall, and eats an apple, cutting it with his jack-knife._) (_Enter_ LEAFY JANE _and_ JOHN QUINCY ADAMS, _the latter dragging a small log of wood_.) MRS. G. (_looking up_). Where yer be’n all the arternoon? J. Q. A. Ben to the wharf, chippin’. L. J. (_lisping_). Yeth, we chipped and got our bathkeths full, and the thkipperth (_skipper’s_) boy, he thed, ‘There, take a log’—and we took one. CAPT. G. The skipper’s boy!—who’s he? J. Q. A. He’s the skipper’s son. CAPT. G. What skipper’s son? J. Q. A. Why! the captain of the Betsey Ludgitt. He’s down there to the wharf, unloadin’ his wood. And his boy, he’s real hunkey! He give me all these butnuts (_shows them_) and this gum,—see this gum,—real spruce gum!—none o’ your Burgundy pitch and candle-grease, such as you buy to the store. MRS. G. Gum! Then I s’pose you’ll go to chawin’ agin! J. Q. A. I’ll bet I will. Its rippin’ good! (_Chews._) L. J. (_lisps_). Marm, he sthiks hith cud on the head-board, and it makth a white plathe. I theen it when I make the bed. MRS. G. Sticks his cud on the head-board! What on airth do you mean? L. J. Yeth, hith cud o’ gum. He doth it motht every night, when he _hath_ gum. MRS. G. What do you do that for? J. Q. A. I stick it there when I go to sleep, so when I wake up in the middle of the night I can have a good chaw to pass away the time. CAPT. G. Haw! Haw! Haw! MRS. G. John Quincy Adams Gandy! What’ll yer do next! J. Q. A. Go a-fishin’, I guess, marmy. (_Kisses her._) CAPT. G. What’s the skipper’s name? J. Q. A. Miller—Solomon Miller; and his son’s name’s William.