I had heard it was considerable of a store, but good land! it was bigger than all the shops of Jonesville put together, and 2 or 3 10 acre lots, and a few meetin’ housen. But I wouldn’t have acted skairt, if it had been as big as all Africa. I walked in as cool as a cowcumber. We sot down pretty nigh to the door and looked round a spell. Of all the sights of folks there was a comin’ in all the time, and shinin’ counters all down as fur as we could see, and slick lookin’ fellers behind every one, and lots of boys runnin’ round, that they called “Cash.” I says to Betsey,

“What a large family of boys Mr. Cash’es folks have got, and they must some of ’em be twins, they seem to be about of a size.”

I was jest thinkin’ in a pityin way of their mother: poor Mrs. Cash, and how many pantaloons she would have to put new seats into, in slidin’ down hill time, when Betsey says to me,

“Josiah Allen’s wife, hadn’t you better be purchasing your merchandise?” Says she, “I will set here and rest ’till you get through, and as deah Tuppah remarked, ‘study human nature.’” She didn’t have no book as I could see to study out of, but I didn’t make no remarks, Betsey is a curious critter, anyway. I went up to the first counter—there was a real slick lookin’ feller there, and I asked him in a cool tone, “If Mr. Stewart took eggs, and what they was a fetchin’ now?”

He said “Mr. Stewart don’t take eggs.”

“Well,” says I, “what does he give now for butter in the pail?”

He said “Mr. Stewart don’t take butter.”

“Well,” says I, in a dignified way, “It haint no matter, I only asked to see what they was a fetchin’ here. I haint got any with me, for I come on a tower.” I then took a little roll out of my pocket, and undone ’em. It was a pair of socks and a pair of striped mittens. And I says to him in a cool, calm way,

“How much is Mr. Stewart a payin’ for socks and mittens now. I know they are kinder out of season now, but there haint no danger but what Winter will come, if you only wait long enough.”

He said “we don’t take em.”

I felt dissapointed, for I did want Alexander to have ’em, they was knit so good. I was jest thinkin’ this over, when he spoke up agin, and says he, “we don’t take barter of no kind.” I didn’t know really what he meant, but I answered him in a blind way, that it was jest as well as if they did, as fur as I was concerned, for we hadn’t raised any barter that year, it didn’t seem to be a good year for it, and then I continued on—“Mebby Mr. Stewart would take these socks and mittens for his own use.” Says I, “do you know whether Alexander is well off for socks and mittens or not?”

The clerk said “he guessed Mr. Stewart wasn’t sufferin’ for ’em.”

“Well,” says I in a dignified way, “you can do as you are a mind to about takin’ ’em, but they are colored in a good indigo blue dye, they haint pusley color, and they are knit on honor, jest as I knit Josiah’s.”

“Who is Josiah?” says the clerk.

Says I, a sort of blindly, “He is the husband of Josiah Allen’s wife.”

I would’t say right out, that I was Josiah Allen’s wife, because I wanted them socks and mittens to stand on their own merits, or not at all. I wasn’t goin’ to have ’em go, jest because one of the first wimmen of the day knit ’em. Neither was I goin’ to hang on, and tease him to take ’em. I never said another word about his buyin’ ’em, only mentioned in a careless way, that “the heels was run.” But he didn’t seem to want ’em, and I jest folded ’em up, and in a cool way put ’em into my pocket. I then asked to look at his calicos, for I was pretty near decided in my own mind to get a apron, for I wasn’t goin’ to have him think that all my property lay in that pair of socks and mittens.

He told me where to go to see the calicos, and there was another clerk behind that counter. I didn’t like his looks a bit, he was real uppish lookin’. But I wasn’t goin’ to let him mistrust that I was put to my stumps a bit. I walked up as collected lookin’ as if I owned the whole caboodle of ’em, and New York village, and Jonesville, and says I,

“I want to look at your calicos.”

“What prints will you look at?” says he, meanin’ to put on me.

Says I, “I don’t want to look at no Prince,” says I, “I had ruther see a free born American citizen, than all the foreign Princes you can bring out.” Says I, “Americans make perfect fools of themselves in my mind, a runnin’ after a parcel of boys, whose only merit is, they happened to be born before thier brothers and sisters was.” Says I, “If a baby is born in a meetin’ house, it don’t make out that he is born a preacher. A good smart American boy like Thomas Jefferson, looks as good to me as any of your Princes.” I said this in a noble, lofty tone, but after a minute’s thought I went on,

“Though, if you have got a quantity of Princes here, I had as lives see one of Victory’s boys, as any of ’em. The widder Albert is a good housekeeper, and a first-rate calculator, and a woman that has got a Right. I set a good deal of store by the widder Albert, I always thought I should like to get acquainted with her, and visit back and forth, and neighbor with her.”

I waited a minute, but he didn’t make no move towards showin’ me any Prince. But, says he,

“What kind of calico do you want to look at?”

I thought he come off awful sudden from Princes to calico, but I didn’t say nothin’. But I told him “I would like to look at a chocklate colored ground work, with a set flower on it.”

“Shan’t I show you a Dolly Varden,” says he.

I see plainly that he was a tryin’ to impose on me, talkin’ about Princes and Dolly Varden, and says I with dignity,

“If I want to make Miss Varden’s acquaintance, I can, without askin’ you to introduce me. But,” I continued coldly, “I don’t care about gettin’ acquainted with Miss Varden, I have heard her name talked over too much in the street. I am afraid she haint a likely girl. I am afraid she haint such a girl as I should want my Tirzah Ann to associate with. Ever sense I started from Jonesville I have heard that girl talked about. ‘There is Dolly Varden!’ and ‘Oh look at Dolly Varden!’ I have heard it I bet more’n a hundred times sense I sot out. And it seems to me that no modest girl would be traipsin’ all over the country alone, for I never have heard a word about old Mr. and Miss Varden, or any of the Varden boys. Not that it is anything out of charicter to go off on a tower. I am off on a tower myself,” says I, with quite a good deal of dignity, “but it don’t look well for a young girl like her, to be streamin’ round alone. I wish I could see old Mr. and Miss Varden, I would advise the old man and woman to keep Dolly at home, if they have any regard for her good name. Though I’m afraid,” I repeated, lookin’ at him keenly over my specs, “I’m afraid it is too late for me to interfere, I am afraid she haint a likely girl.”

His face was jest as red as blood. But he tried to turn it off with a laugh. And he said somethin’ about her “bein’ the style,” and “bein’ gay,” or somethin’. But I jest stopped him pretty quick. Says I, givin’ him a awful searchin’ look,

“I think jest as much of Dolly as I do of her most intimate friends, male or female.”

He pretended to turn it off with a laugh. But I know a guilty conscience when I see it as quick as anybody. I haint one to break a bruised reed more than once into. And my spectacles beamed more mildly onto him, and I says to him in a kind but firm manner.

“Young man, if I was in your place, I would drop Dolly Varden’s acquaintance.” Says I, “I advise you for your own good, jest as I would Thomas Jefferson.”

“Who is Thomas Jefferson?” says he.

Says I, in a cautious tone, “He is Josiah Allen’s child, by his first wife, and the own brother of Tirzah Ann.”

I then laid my hand on a piece of choklate ground calico, and says I, “This suits me pretty well, but I have my doubts,” says I, examinin’ it closer through my specs, “I mistrust it will fade some. What is your opinion?” says I, speakin’ to a elegantly dressed woman by my side, who stood there with her rich silk dress a trailin’ down on the floor.

“Do you suppose this calico will wash mom?”

I was so busy a rubbin’ the calico to see if it was firm cloth, that I never looked up in her face at all. But when I asked her for the third time, and she didn’t speak, I looked up in her face, and I haint come so near faintin’ sence I was united to Josiah Allen. That woman’s head was off!

The clerk see that I was overcome by somethin’, and says he, “what is the matter?”

I couldn’t speak, but I pinted with my forefinger stiddy at that murdered woman. I guess I had pinted at her pretty nigh half a minute, when I found breath and says I, slowly turnin’ that extended finger at him, in so burnin’ indignant a way, that if it had been a spear, he would have hung dead on it.

“That is pretty doin’s in a Christian country!”

His face turned red as blood agin—and looked all swelled up, he was so mortified. And he murmured somethin’ about her “bein’ dumb,” or a “dummy” or somethin’—but I interrupted him—and says I,

“I guess you would be dumb yourself if your head was cut off.” Says I, in awful sarcastic tones,

“It would be pretty apt to make any body dumb.”

Then he explaned it to me. That it was a wooden figger, to hang thier dresses and mantillys on. And I cooled down and told him I would take a yard and 3 quarters of the calico, enough for a honorable apron.

Says he, “We don’t sell by retail in this room.”

I give that clerk then a piece of my mind. I asked him how many aprons he supposed Tirzah Ann and I stood in need of? I asked him if he supposed we was entirely destitute of aprons? And I asked him in a awful sarcastic tone if he had a idee that Josiah and Thomas Jefferson wore aprons? Says I, “any body would think you did.” Says I, turnin’ away awful dignified, “when I come agin I will come when Alexander is in the store himself.”

I joined Betsey by the door, and says I, “Less go on to once.”

“But,” says she, to me in a low mysterious voice; “Josiah Allen’s wife, do you suppose they would want to let me have a straw colored silk dress, and take thier pay in poetry?”

Says I, “for the land’s sake Betsey, don’t try to sell any poetry here. I am wore out. If they won’t take any sacks and mittens, or good butter and eggs, I know they won’t take poetry.”

She argued a spell with me, but I stood firm, for I wouldn’t let her demean herself for nothin’. And finally I got her to go on.