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They've gone a good way, no doubt; but I think that even the Jonesville people yet feel their Americanism. What they need is leadership. Their Congressmen are poor, timid, pork-barrel creatures. Their governors are in training for the Senate. The Vice-President reads no official literature of the war, "because then I might have a conviction about it and that wouldn't be neutral." And so on.
And Robert Strong talked a good deal to Dorothy about Plato and Homer and Xenophon and Euripides, Sophocles, Phidias, and Socrates and lots more of them old worthies; folks, Josiah remarked to me, that had never lived anywhere round Jonesville way, he knew by the names. And Dorothy quoted some poetry beginning: "The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece." And Robert quoted some poetry.
Why, one morning I rode into Jonesville in time to see four Greasers walkin' down the main street with feed-sacks over their shoulders. Each one of those gunnie's had something long and flat and heavy in it, and I growed curious. When I investigated, what d'you suppose I found? Tombstones! That's right; four marble beauties fresh from the cemetery.
But tacklin' hard jobs as I always tackle 'em, I sot right down calmly in front of him, with my umberell acrost my lap, and told him over all of Dorlesky's errents. And how I had brought 'em from Jonesville on my tower.
Anon I see a dancin' pavilion big enough for all the folks in Jonesville and Zoar to dance in at one time. But I never thought of dancin' or two-steppin' myself, though the music wuz enticin' to them easy enticed.
And Josiah sez to me, "I'll be jiggered, Samantha, if this man at this age of the world don't know where Jonesville is." "Well," sez I coolly, "we hain't expected to civilize all creation, Josiah." And as we had jest come to the entrance of the Tyoleran Alps I wouldn't let Josiah stop and parley with him any furder. He wuz kinder snickerin' to himself, a ignorant onmannerly creeter.
I will relate a very interesting conversation which I had with a very old colored man that I met in the road near the Orapeake Mill, in Gates county, North Carolina, when on my way to Suffolk, Va., and not far from the beautiful village of Jonesville, lying on both sides of the Suffolk and Carolina Short Line or Grand Trunk Railroad. I said to the old man, "Uncle, where do you live?"
Miss Bombus wouldn't give because I didn't put the names in the Jonesville Augur or Gimlet, for she said, "Let your good deeds so shine." "Why," says I, "Miss Whymper wouldn't give because she wanted to give secreter, and you won't give because you want to give publicker, and you both quote Scripter, but it don't seem to help the Smedleys much."
Now they had never attempted to regulate mere noise in Jonesville, but that night a brand-new policeman had gone on the courthouse beat, and blamed if he didn't arrest the whole bunch for disturbing the peace when they hadn't broken a single thing, mind you.
He said he had heard there was a general agent in Jonesville that was a sendin' out agents with all sorts of attachments, some with hemmers, and some with fellers." But I didn't believe a word of it: I believe he was mean. A mean, low-lived, insultin' creeter. Wall, Cicely died in June; and how the days will pass by, whether we are joyful or sorrowful! Ah, yes! time passes by swiftly.
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