Our son, Thomas Jefferson, and his wife, Maggie, have been wadin’ through a sea of trouble. He down with inflamatory rumatiz so a move or jar of any kind, a fly walkin’ over the bedclothes, would most drive him crazy; and she with nervious prostration, brought on I spoze by nussin’ her pardner and her youngest boy, Thomas Josiah (called Tommy), through the measles, that had left him that spindlin’ and weak-lunged that the doctor said the only thing that could tone up his system and heal his lungs and save his life would be a long sea voyage. He had got to be got away from the cold fall blasts of Jonesville to once. Oh! how I felt when I heard that ultimatum and realized his danger, for Tommy wuz one of my favorites. Grandparents ort not to have favorites, but I spoze they will as long as the world turns on its old axletrys.

He looks as Thomas J. did when he wuz his age and I married his pa and took the child to my heart, and got his image printed there so it won’t never rub off through time or eternity. Tommy is like his pa and he hain’t like him; he has his pa’s old ways of truthfulness and honesty, and deep––why good land! there hain’t no tellin’ how deep that child is. He has got big gray-blue eyes, with long dark lashes that kinder veil his eyes when he’s thinkin’; his hair 10 is kinder dark, too, about the color his pa’s wuz, and waves and crinkles some, and in the crinkles it seems as if there wuz some gold wove into the brown. He has got a sweet mouth, and one that knows how to stay shet too; he hain’t much of a talker, only to himself; he’ll set and play and talk to himself for hours and hours, and though he’s affectionate, he’s a independent child; if he wants to know anything the worst kind he will set and wonder about it (he calls it wonner). He will say to himself, “I wonner what that means.” And sometimes he will talk to Carabi about it––that is a child of his imagination, a invisible playmate he has always had playin’ with him, talkin’ to him, and I spoze imaginin’ that Carabi replies. I have asked him sometimes, “Who is Carabi, I hearn you talkin’ to out in the yard? Where duz he come from! How duz he look?”

He always acts shy about tellin’, but if pressed hard he will say, “He looks like Carabi, and he comes from right here,” kinder sweepin’ his arms round. But he talks with him by the hour, and I declare it has made me feel fairly pokerish to hear him. But knowin’ what strange avenoos open on every side into the mysterious atmosphere about us, the strange ether world that bounds us on every pint of the compass, and not knowin’ exactly what natives walk them avenoos, I hain’t dasted to poke too much fun at him, and ’tennyrate I spozed if Tommy went a long sea-voyage Carabi would have to go too. But who wuz goin’ with Tommy? Thomas J. had got independent rich, and Maggie has come into a large property; they had means enough, but who wuz to go with him? I felt the mantilly of responsibility fallin’ on me before it fell, and I groaned in sperit––could I, could I agin tempt the weariness and danger of a long trip abroad, and alone at that? For I tackled Josiah on the subject before Thomas J. importuned me, only with his eyes, sad and beseechin’ and eloquent. And Josiah planted himself firm as a rock on his refusal.

Never, never would he stir one step on a long sea-voyage, 11 no indeed! he had had enough of water to last him through his life, he never should set foot on any water deeper than the creek, and that wuzn’t over his pumps. “But I cannot see the child die before my eyes, Josiah, and feel that I might have saved him, and yet am I to part with the pardner of my youth and middle age? Am I to leave you, Josiah?”

“I know not!” sez he wildly, “only I know that I don’t set my foot on any ship, or any furren shore agin. When I sung ‘hum agin from a furren shore’ I meant hum agin for good and all, and here I stay.”

“Oh dear me!” I sithed, “why is it that the apron strings of Duty are so often made of black crape, but yet I must cling to ’em?”

“Well,” sez Josiah, “what clingin’ I do will be to hum; I don’t go dressed up agin for months, and hang round tarvens and deepos, and I couldn’t leave the farm anyway.”

But his mean wuz wild and haggard; that man worships me. But dear little Tommy wuz pinin’ away; he must go, and to nobody but his devoted grandma would they trust him, and I knew that Philury and Ury could move right in and take care of everything, and at last I sez: “I will try to go, Thomas J., I will try to go ’way off alone with Tommy and leave your pa–––.” But here my voice choked up and I hurried out to give vent to some tears and groans that I wouldn’t harrow Thomas J. with. But strange, strange are the workin’s of Providence! wonderful are the ways them apron strings of Duty will be padded and embroidered, strange to the world’s people, but not to them that consider the wonderful material they are made of, and how they float out from that vast atmosphere jest spoke on, that lays all round us full of riches and glory and power, and beautiful surprises for them that cling to ’em whether or no. Right at this time, as if our sharp distress had tapped the universe and it run comfort, two relations of Maggie’s, on their way home from Paris to San Francisco, stopped to see their relations in Jonesville on their own sides.

Dorothy Snow, Maggie’s cousin, wuz a sweet young girl, the only child of Adonirum Snow, who left Jonesville poor as a rat, went to Californy and died independent rich. She wuz jest out of school, had been to Paris for a few months to take special studies in music and languages; a relation on her ma’s side, a kind of gardeen, travelin’ with her. Albina Meechim wuz a maiden lady from choice, so she said and I d’no as I doubted it when I got acquainted with her, for she did seem to have a chronic dislike to man, and havin’ passed danger herself her whole mind wuz sot on preventin’ Dorothy from marryin’.

They come to Maggie’s with a pretty, good natured French maid, not knowin’ of the sickness there, and Maggie wouldn’t let ’em go, as they wuz only goin’ to stay a few days. They wuz hurryin’ home to San Francisco on account of some bizness that demanded Dorothy’s presence there. But they wuz only goin’ to stop there a few days, and then goin’ to start off on another long sea-voyage clear to China, stoppin’ at Hawaii on the way. Warm climate! good for measles! My heart sunk as I hearn ’em tell on’t. Here wuz my opportunity to have company for the long sea-voyage. But could I––could I take it? Thomas Jefferson gently approached the subject ag’in. Sez he, “Mother, mebby Tommy’s life depends on it, and here is good company from your door.” I murmured sunthin’ about the expenses of such a trip.

Sez he, “That last case I had will more than pay all expenses for you and Tommy, and father if he will go, and,” sez he, “if I can save my boy––” and his voice trembled and he stopped.

“But,” I sez, “your father is able to pay for any trip we want to take.” And he says, “He won’t pay a cent for this.” And there it wuz, the way made clear, good company provided from the doorstep. Dorothy slipped her soft little white hand in mine and sez, “Do go, Aunt Samantha. May I call you Auntie?” sez she, as she lifted her sweet 13 voylet eyes to mine. She’s as pretty as a pink––white complected, with wavy, golden hair and sweet, rosy lips and cheeks.

And I sez, “Yes, you dear little creater, you may call me aunt in welcome, and we be related in a way,” sez I.

Sez Miss Meechim, “We shall consider it a great boon if you go with us. And dear little Tommy, it will add greatly to the pleasure of our trip. We only expected to have three in our company.”

“Who is the third?” sez I.

“My nephew, Robert Strong. He has been abroad with us, but had to go directly home to San Francisco to attend to his business before he could go on this long trip; he will join us there. We expect to go to Hawaii and the Philippines, and Japan and China, and perhaps Egypt.”

“And that will be just what you will enjoy, mother,” sez Thomas J.

Sez I, in a strange axent, “I never laid plans for going to China, but,” sez I, “I do feel that I would love to see the Empress, Si Ann. There is sunthin’ that the widder Heinfong ort to know.”

Thomas J. asked me what it wuz, but I gently declined to answer, merely sayin’ that it was a matter of duty, and so I told Miss Meechim when she asked about it. She is so big feelin’ that it raised me up considerable to think that I had business with a Empress. But I answered her evasive, and agin I giv vent to a low groan, and sez to myself, “Can I let the Pacific Ocean roll between me and Josiah? Will Duty’s apron string hold up under the strain, or will it break with me? Will it stretch out clear to China? And oh! will my heart strings that are wrapped completely round that man, will they stretch out the enormous length they will have to and still keep hull?” I knew not. I wuz a prey to overwhelmin’ emotions, even as I did up my best night-gowns and sheepshead night-caps and sewed clean lace in the neck and sleeves of my parmetty and gray alpaca and 14 got down my hair trunk, for I knew that I must hang onto that apron string no matter where it carried me to. Waitstill Webb come and made up some things I must have, and as preparations went on my pardner’s face grew haggard and wan from day to day, and he acted as if he knew not what he wuz doin’. Why, the day I got down my trunk I see him start for the barn with the accordeon in a pan. He sot out to get milk for the calf. He was nearly wild.

He hadn’t been so good to me in over four years. Truly, a threatened absence of female pardners is some like a big mustard poultice applied to the manly breast drawin’ out the concealed stores of tenderness and devotion that we know are there all the time, but sometimes kep’ hid for years and years.

He urged me to eat more than wuz good for me––rich stuff that I never did eat––and bought me candy, which I sarahuptishly fed to the pup. And he follered me round with footstools, and het the soap stun hotter than wuz good for my feet, and urged me to keep out of drafts.

And one day he sez to me with a anxious face:

“If you do go, Samanthy, I wouldn’t write about your trip––I am afraid it will be too much for you––I am afraid it will tire your head too much. I know it would mine.”

And then I say to him in a tender axent, for his devotion truly touched me:

“There is a difference in heads, Josiah.”

But he looked so worried that I most promised him I wouldn’t try to write about the trip––oh! how that man loves me, and I him visey versey. And so the days passed, little Tommy pale and pimpin’, Thomas J. lookin’ more cheerful as he thought his ma wuzn’t goin’ to fail him, Maggie tryin’ to keep up and tend to havin’ Tommy’s clothes fixed; she hated to have him go, and wanted him to go. She and Thomas J. wuz clingin’ to that string, black as a coal, and hash feelin’ to our fingers. Miss Meechim and Dorothy wuz as happy as could be. Miss Meechim wuz tall and slim 15 and very genteel, and sandy complected, and she confided her rulin’ passion to me the first time I see her for any length of time.

“I want Dorothy to be a bachelor maid,” sez she. “I am determined that she shall not marry anyone. And you don’t know,” sez she fervently, “what a help my nephew, Robert Strong, has been to me in protectin’ Dorothy from lovers. I am so thankful he is going with us on this long trip. He is good as gold and very rich; but he has wrong ideas about his wealth. He says that he only holds it in trust, and he has built round his big manufactory, just outside of San Francisco, what he calls a City of Justice, where his workmen are as well cared for and happy as he is. That is very wrong, I have told him repeatedly. It is breaking down the Scriptures, which teaches the poor their duty to the rich, and gently admonishes the rich to look down upon and guide the poor. How can the Scriptures be fulfilled if the rich lift up the poor and make them wealthy? I trust that Robert will see his mistake in time, before he makes all his workmen wealthy. But, oh, he is such a help to me in protecting Dorothy from lovers.”

“How duz he protect her?” sez I.

“Oh, he has such tact. He knows just how opposed I am to matrimony in the abstract and concrete, and he has managed gently but firmly to lead Dorothy away from the dangers about her. Now, he don’t care for dancing at all; but there was a young man at home who wuz just winning her heart completely with his dexterity with his heels, as you may say. He was the most graceful dancer and Dorothy dotes on dancing. I told my trouble to Robert, and what should that boy do but make a perfect martyr of himself, and after a few lessons danced so much better that Dorothy wuz turned from her fancy. And one of her suitors had such a melodious voice, he wuz fairly singin’ his way into her heart, and I confided my fears to Robert, and he immediately responded, dear boy. He just practised self-denial 16 again, and commenced singing with her himself, and his sweet, clear tenor voice entirely drowned out the deep basso I had feared. Of course, Robert did it to please me and from principle. I taught him early self-denial and the pleasures of martyrdom. Of course, I never expected he would carry my teachings to such an extent as he has in his business life. I did not mean it to extend to worldly matters; I meant it to be more what the Bible calls ‘the workings of the spirit.’ But he will doubtless feel different as he gets older. And, oh, he is such a help to me with Dorothy. Now, on this trip he knows my fears, and how sedulously I have guarded Dorothy from the tender passion, and it wuz just like him to put his own desires in the background and go with us to help protect her.”

“How did you git such dretful fears of marriage?” sez I. “Men are tryin’ lots of times, and it takes considerable religion to git along with one without jawin’ more or less. But, after all, I d’no what I should do without my pardner––I think the world on him, and have loved to think I could put out my hand any time and be stayed and comforted by his presence. I should feel dretful lost and wobblin’ without him,” sez I, with a deep sithe, “though I well know his sect’s shortcomin’s. But I never felt towards ’em as you do, even in my most maddest times, when Josiah had been the tryinest and most provokinest.”

“Well,” sez she, “my father spent all my mother’s money on horse-racin’, save a few thousand which he had invested for her, and she felt wuz safe, but he took that to run away with a bally girl, and squandered it all on her and died on the town. My eldest sister’s husband beat her with a poker, and throwed her out of a three-story front in San Francisco, and she landin’ on a syringea tree wuz saved to git a divorce from him and also from her second and third husbands for cruelty, after which she gave up matrimony and opened a boarding-house, bitter in spirit, but a good calculator. I lived with her when a young girl, and imbibed 17 her dislike for matrimony, which wuz helped further by sad experiences of my own, which is needless to particularize. (I hearn afterwards that she had three disappointments runnin’, bein’ humbly and poor in purse.)

“And now,” sez she, “I am as well grounded against matrimony as any woman can be, and my whole energies are aimed on teaching Dorothy the same belief I hold.”

“Well,” sez I, “your folks have suffered dretful from men and I don’t wonder you feel as you do. But what I am a goin’ to do to be separated from my husband durin’ this voyage is more than I can tell.” And I groaned a deep holler groan.

“Why, I haven’t told you half,” sez she. “All of my sisters but one had trouble with their husbands. Robert’s step-ma wuz the only one who had a good husband, but he died before they’d been married a year, and she follered him in six months, leaving twins, who died also, and I took Robert, to whom I had got attached, to the boarding-house, and took care on him until he wuz sent away to school and college. His pa left plenty of money,” sez she, “and a big fortune when he came of age, which he has spent in the foolish way I have told you of, or a great part of it.”

Well, at this juncture we wuz interrupted, and didn’t resoom the conversation until some days afterwards, though I wuz dretful interested in the big manufactory of Robert Strong’s, that big co-working scheme. (I had hearn Thomas J. commend it warmly.)

At last the day come for me to start. I waked up feelin’ a strange weight on my heart. I had dremp Philury had sot the soap stun on my chest. But no soap stun wuz ever so hard and heavy as my grief. Josiah and I wuz to be parted! Could it be so? Could I live through it? He wuz out in the wood-house kitchen pretendin’ to file a saw. File a saw before breakfast! He took that gratin’ job to hide his groans; he wuz weepin’; his red eyes betrayed him. Philury got a good breakfast which we couldn’t eat. My trunk wuz 18 packed and in the democrat. The neighborin’ wimmen brung me warm good-byes and bokays offen their house plants, and sister Sypher sent me some woosted flowers, which I left to home, and some caraway seed to nibble on my tower which I took.

She that wuz Arvilly Lanfeare brought me a bottle of bam made out of the bark of the bam of Gilead tree, to use in case I should get bruised or smashed on the train, and also two pig’s bladders blowed up, which she wanted me to wear constant on the water to help me float. She had painted on one of ’em the Jonesville meetin’-house, thinkin’, I spoze, the steeple might bring lofty thoughts to me in hurrycains or cyclones. And on the other one she had painted in big letters the title of the book she is agent for––“The Twin Crimes of America: Intemperance and Greed!” I thought it wuz real cunning in Arvilly to combine so beautifully kindness and business. There is so much in advertising. They looked real well, but I didn’t see how I wuz goin’ to wear ’em over my bask waist. Arvilly said she wanted to go with me the worst kind. Says she:

“I hain’t felt so much like goin’ anywhere sense I deserted.” (Arvilly did enlist in the Cuban army, and deserted, and they couldn’t touch her for it––of which more anon.)

And I sez to her: “I wish you could go, Arvilly; I believe it would do you good after what you have went through.”

Well, the last minute come and Ury took us to the train. Josiah went with me, but he couldn’t have driv no more than a mournin’ weed could.

I parted with the children, and––oh! it wuz a hard wrench on my heart to part with Thomas J.; took pale little Tommy in my arms, like pullin’ out his pa’s heart-strings––and his ma’s, too––and at last the deepo wuz reached.

As we went in we see old Miss Burpy from ’way back of Loontown. She wuz never on the cars before, or see ’em, 19 but she wuz sent for by her oldest boy who lives in the city.

She was settin’ in a big rocken’-chair rocken voyolently, and as I went past her she says:

“Have we got to New York yet?”

“Why,” sez I, “we haint started.”

She sez, “I thought I wuz in the convenience now a-travellin’.”

“Oh, no,” I sez, “the conveyance haint come yet, you will heer it screechin’ along pretty soon.”

Anon we hearn the train thunderin’ towards us. I parted with Tirzah Ann and Whitfield, havin’ shook hands with Ury before; and all others being parted from, I had to, yes, I had to, bid my beloved pardner adoo. And with a almost breakin’ heart clum into the car, Miss Meechim and Dorothy and Aronette having preceeded me before hand. Yes, I left my own Josiah behind me, with his bandanna pressed to his eyes.

Could I leave him? At the last minute I leaned out of the car winder and sez with a choken voice:

“Josiah, if we never meet again on Jonesville sile, remember there is a place where partin’s and steam engines are no more.”

His face wuz covered with his bandanna, from whence issued deep groans, and I felt I must be calm to boy him up, and I sez:

“Be sure, Josiah, to keep your feet dry, take your cough medicine reglar, go to meetin’ stiddy, keep the pumps from freezin’, and may God bless you,” sez I.

And then again I busted into tears. The hard-hearted engine snorted and puffed, and we wuz off.