(Samantha’s kitchen, Samantha standing by a big churn looking very tired. Josiah sitting by the table reading a newspaper with great interest).

Samantha. I’ve been churnin’ on this cream for two full hours, ever since I finished white-washin’ the back kitchen, and ironin’ and moppin’ and bakin’; I’m all beat out and I wish you’d help me a little.

Josiah. (Not lookin’ up from his paper). I would love to Samantha, nothin’ pleases me more than to churn two or three pails full of cream. Men had always ruther do that than to eat.

Samantha. Take holt then and let me rest a minute. I did a big day’s work before I begun to churn, and I’m tired out.

Josiah. (Still reading). I would in a minute, Samantha, but if I take this tub of butter to Jonesville I’ve got to grease the democrat, it don’t run good. (Lookin’ up from his paper). I want you to hear this Samantha. Here is eloquence and good horse sense, I feel that I love the man that wrote it—love him like a brother. You know I always contended that wimmen wuz too weak and helpless to vote, even if they knew enough, which they don’t.

(Samantha stretches up her weary form and leans on the churn dasher and says). Yes, I know you always argyed that way, but what is the piece, Josiah?

Josiah. Oh, he is answerin’ a Woman’s Sufferage argument. He sez the idee of a great strong man allowin’ a weak and delicate woman to vote or endure any other hardship is perfectly obnoxious and repugnant to any man that has the sperit of a man. The very idee of lettin’ them angels strain themselves liftin’ at the political pole is more than a tender-hearted man can endure. And he goes on to say, If I were a woman I would do nothin’ important, I would emulate the rose and its wisdom, I would allure and charm and be silent. Man wuz made to protect woman, to work for her, and vote for her. Woman wuz made to smile on man and charm him in his hours of ease. Do you hear that, Samantha? That masterly, convincin’ logick?

(Samantha has resumed her churning again and says). Yes, I hear it, Josiah. But I want a pail of cold water; you know I have to draw it up by hand since the pump broke, and git a ten quart pail of water on the end of the pole, I don’t believe the political pole would draw much harder.

Josiah. Yes it would, Samantha; I guess you’d find it drawed harder, wimmen little know the awful tuckerin’ work it is to vote.

Samantha. Well, I’d like a pail of water, Josiah, and I wish you’d come and help me churn a little; seems as if my back will break off.

Josiah. I told you, Samantha, I’d got to grease that democrat! But what do you think of this beautiful article?

Samantha. The man goes too fur, Josiah, he hain’t megum enough, wimmen hain’t angels.

Josiah. They be angels; I always said so.

Samantha. And I always said they wuzn’t. And I always said that wimmen did harder work than to vote and men never seemed to worry about that.

Josiah. (Solemnly). No they don’t do any harder work, Samantha, votin’ wears on us strong minded men turribly, and what would it do to a weak, fraguile woman? Oh that man puts men and wimmen in their different spears so beautiful and so plain that it seems as if a infant babe, or even a woman, could understand it. (Josiah steps nearer to Samantha and points to the piece in the paper). If you’d foller this man’s idees, Samantha, I’d be the happiest man in Jonesville or the world. (He sits down, leans back with his fingers in the arm-holes of his vest in a very important attitude).

Samantha. (Reasonably). I’d be willin’ to charm you, Josiah but I don’t see how I could allure and charm and do my house work at the same time. And even if I wuz to do the Rose Act when I have a big churnin’ to do I don’t see how it would affect you, for you always have to grease the democrat or the sarah, or ile harnesses churnin’ days.

Josiah. (In a cross tone). What of it? What if I do?

Samantha. Oh don’t git agitated, Josiah, this butter has got to be churned and worked over, and the rest of my mornin’s work done, and I wish you’d pull up a pole of water, and help finish the churnin’ and bring up that tub from the suller and help pack it. It is hard work for a woman’s back and arms when they’re most broke already.

Josiah. (Rising and speaking very cross). If I go to Jonesville that democrat has got to be greased. How can you expect a democrat to run without ilein’? And sometimes they won’t run then. (He glances at Bryan’s picture, hanging on the wall, grabs up his basin of wagon grease, and starts off almost on the run and slams the door behind him.)

(Samantha stands a minute looking after him as if in deep thought, and then she drops the butter dasher down with a bang, and sets the churn back and says, speaking to herself). If I’m a angel I’ll stop churnin’ long enough to breathe, and if I’m too weak and delicate to drop a slip of paper in a box once a year I’ll set down before I drop down.