“This be bread. If man knoweth not the grain from which ’twer fashioned, what then? ’Tis bread. Let man deny me this.”—Patience Worth.

But after all, perhaps the truest conception of the character and versatility of Patience can be acquired from her “conversations.” The word “conversation” I here loosely apply to all that comes from her in the course of an evening, excepting the work on her stories. The poems and parables are usually woven into her remarks with a sequence that suggests extemporaneous production for the particular occasion, although as a rule they are of general application. Almost invariably they are brought out by something she or someone else has said, or as a tribute, a lesson or a comfort to some person who is present. Her songs, as she calls her poems, are freely given, apparently without a thought or a care as to what may become of them. They seem to come spontaneously, without effort, with no pause for thought, no groping for the right word, and to fall into their places as part of the spoken rather than the written speech. So it is that the term “conversation” in this connection is made to include much that ordinarily would not fall within that designation.

One of the pleasures of an evening with Patience is the uncertainty of the form of the entertainment. Never are two evenings alike in the general nature of the communications. She adapts herself to circumstances and to the company present, serious if they are bent on serious subjects, merry if they are so; but seldom will the serious escape without a little of the merry, or the merry without a little of the serious. Sometimes her own feelings seem to have an influence. Always, however, she is permitted to take her own course, except in the case of a formal examination, to which she readily responds if conducted with respect. She may devote the evening largely to poetry, possibly varying the themes, as on one evening when she gave a nature poem, one of a religious character, a lullaby, a humorous verse and a prayer, interspersed with discussion. She may talk didactically with little or no interruption. She may submit to a catechism upon religion, philosophy, philology, or any subject that may arise. She may devote an evening to a series of little personal talks to a succession of sitters, or she may elect just to gossip. “I be dame,” she says, and therefore not averse to gossip. But rarely will she neglect to write something on whatever story she may have in hand. She speaks of such writing as “weaving.” “Put ye to weave,” she will say, and that means that conversation is to stop for a time until a little real work is accomplished.

The conversations which follow are selected to illustrate the variety of form referred to, as well as to introduce a number of interesting statements that throw light on the character of the phenomena.

Upon a certain evening the Currans had two visitors, Dr. and Mrs. W. With Dr. W. and Mrs. C. at the board and Mrs. W. leaning over it, Patience began:

“Ah, hark! Here abe athree; yea, love, faith and more o’ love! Thee hast for to hark unto word I do put o’ them, not ye.”

And then she told this tale of the Mite and the Seeds:

“Hark! Aneath the earth fell a seed, and lay aside a Mite, a winged mite, who hid from cold. Yea, and the Mite knew o’ the day o’er the Earth’s crust, and spake unto the Seed, and said:

“‘The hours o’ day show sun and cloud, aye, and the Earth’s crust holdeth grass and tree. Aye, and men walk ’pon the Earth.’

“Aye, and the Seed did say unto the Mite:

“‘Nay, there be a naught save Earth and dark, for mine eye hath not beheld what thou tellest of.’

“Yea, and the Mite spake it so:

“‘’Tis dark and cold o’er the crust o’ Earth, and thou and me awarm and close ahere.’

“But the Seed spake out: ‘Nay, this be the time I seek me o’er the Earth’s crust and see the Day thou tellest of.’

“And lo, he sent out leaf, and reached high. And lo, when the leaf had pushed up from ’neath the crust, there were snow’s cut and cold, and it died, and knew not the Day o’ the Mite: for the time was not riped that he should seek unto new days.

“And lo, the Stalk that had sent forth the Seed, sent forth amore, and lo, again a one did sink aside the Mite. And he spake to it of the Day o’ Earth and said: ‘Thy brother sought the Day, and it wert not time, and lo, he is no more.’

“And he told of the days of Earth unto the seed, and it spaked unto him and said: ‘This day o’ thee meaneth naught to me. Lo, I shall spring not a root, nor shall I to seek me the days o’ Earth. Nay, I shall lay me close and warm.’

“And e’en though the Mite spake unto the Seed at the time when it wert ripe that it should seek, lo, it lay, and Summer’s tide found it a naught, for it feeded ’pon itself, and lo, wert not.

“And at a later tide did a seed to fall, and it harked unto the Mite and waited the time, and when it wert riped, lo, it upped and sought the day. And it wert so as the Mite had spaked. And the Seed grew into a bush.

“And lo, the winged Mite flew out: for it had brought a brother out o’ the dark and unto the Day, and the task wert o’er.

“These abe like unto them who seek o’ the words o’ me.

“Now aweave thou.”

Patience then wrote about two hundred words of a story, after which Mrs. W. inquired of Mr. C:

“Don’t you ever try to write on the board?” To which he replied facetiously, “No, I’m too dignified.”

Patience.—“Yea, he smirketh unto swine and kicketh the nobles.”

Then seeming to feel that the visitors were wanting something more personal than the “Tale” she said:

“Alawk, they be ahungered, and did weave a bit. Then hark. Here be.

“What think ye, man? They do pucker much o’er the word o’ me, and spat forth that thou dost eat and smack o’ liking. Yea, but hark! Who shed drop for Him but one o’ His, yea, the Son o’ Him? Think ye this abe the pack o’ me? Nay, and thou and thou and thou shalt shed drops in loving for the pack, for it be o’ Him. Now shall I to sing:

As soon as this was read, she followed with another song:

After which she explained:

“I did to fashion out a brew for her ayonder and him ahere. And they did eat o’ it. Yea, for they know o’ Him and know o’ the workings o’ Him and drinked o’ the love o’ me as the love o’ Him. Yea, and hark, there abe much athin this pack for thee.”

This, it will be observed, is rather a discourse than a conversation, and it is often so, Patience filling the evening with her own words; not as exclusively so, however, as this would indicate: for there is always more or less conversation among the party, which it would profit nothing to reproduce.

The next sitting is somewhat more varied. There were present Dr. X., a teacher of anatomy, Mrs. X., Mrs. W. and Miss B. Dr. X. sat at the board with Mrs. Curran:

Patience.—“Eh, gad! Here be a one who taketh Truth unto him and setteth the good dame apace that she knoweth not the name o’ her. I tell thee ’tis he who knoweth her as a sister, and telleth much o’ her, and naught he speaketh oft holdeth her, and much he speaketh holdeth little o’ her, and yet ever he holdeth her unto him. He taketh me as truth, yea, he knoweth he taketh naught and buildeth much, and much and buildeth little o’ it. I track me unto the door o’ him and knock and he heareth me.”

This, of course, referred to Dr. X. and his work, and it aroused some discussion, after which Patience asked, “Would ye I sing?” The answer being in the affirmative, she gave this little verse, also directed to Dr. X.:

“There, thou knowest me. I tell thee I speak unto him who hath truth for his very own. Set thee aweave.”

The sitters complied and received about six hundred words of the story, after which Mrs. X. took the board, remarking as she did so that she was afraid, which elicited this observation from Patience:

“She setteth aside the stream and seeth the craft afloat and be at wishing for to sail, and yet she would to see her who steereth.”

Mrs. X. gave up her place to Miss B., a teacher of botany, to whom Patience presented this tribute:

“The eye o’ her seeth but beauties and shutteth up that which showeth darked, that that not o’ beautie setteth not within the see o’ her. Yea, more; she knoweth how ’tis the dark and what showeth not o’ beauty, at His touching showeth lovely for the see o’ her.

“Such an heart! Ah, thou shouldst feast hereon. I tell thee she giveth unto multitudes the heart o’ her; and such as she dealeth unto earth, earth has need for much. She feasteth her ’pon dusts and knoweth dust shall spring forth bloom. Hurt hath set the heart o’ her, and she hath packed up the hurt with petals.”

Patience then turned her attentions again to Dr. X. “He yonder,” she said, “hath much aneath his skull’s-cap that he wordeth not.”

Thus urged, Dr. X. inquired:

“Does Patience prepare the manuscript she gives in advance? It rather seems that she reads the material to Mrs. Curran.”

“See ye,” cried Patience, “he hath spoke a thing that set aneath his skull’s-cap!” And then, in answer to his question:

“She who afashioneth loaf doth shake well the grain-dust that husks show not. Then doth she for to brew and stir and mix, else the loaf be not afit for eat.”

By grain-dust she means flour or meal, and she uses the word brew in its obsolete sense of preparation for cooking. The answer may be interpreted that she arranges the story in her mind before its dictation, and as to her formal work she has said many things to indicate that such is her method. Dr. X. then asked:

“Are these stories real happenings?”

To which Patience replied:

“Within the land o’ here [her land] be packed the days o’ Earth, and thy day hath its sister day ahere, and thy neighbor’s day and thy neighbor’s neighbor’s day. And I tell thee, didst thou afashion tale thou couldst ne’er afashion lie, for all thou hast athin thy day that thy put might show from the see o’ thee hath been; at not thy time, yea, but it hath been.”

“Then,” asked Dr. X., “should you have transmitted through one who spoke another language you would have used their tongue?”

Patience answered:

“I pettiskirt me so that ye know the me of me. Yea, and I do to take me o’ the store o’ her that I make me word for thee.”

“Pettiskirt” is a common expression of hers to mean dress, in either a literal or a figurative sense. The answer does not mean that she is limited by Mrs. Curran’s vocabulary, but is an affirmative response to the question.

The word “put” in the preceding answer is one that requires some explanation, for it is frequently used by her, and makes some of her sayings difficult to understand. She makes it convey a number of meanings now obsolete, but it usually refers to her writings, her words, her sayings. She makes a noun of it, it will be noticed, as well as a verb. In the foregoing instance it means “tale,” and it has a relation to the primary meaning of the verb, which is to place. The words that are put down become a “put,” and the writer becomes a “putter.” To a lady who told her that she had heard a sound like a bell in her ear, and asked if it was Patience trying to communicate with her, she answered dryly: “Think ye I be a tinkler o’ brass? Nay. I be a putter o’ words.” Further to illustrate this use of the word, and also to throw an interesting light upon her method of communication and the reason for it, I present here a part of a conversation in which a Dr. Z. was the interrogator.

Dr. Z.—“Why isn’t there some other means you could use more easy to manipulate than the ouija board?”

Patience.—“The hand o’ her (Mrs. Curran) do I to put (write) be the hand o’ her, and ’tis ascribe (the act of writing) that setteth the one awhither by eyes-fulls she taketh in.”

By this she seems to mean that if Mrs. Curran tried to write for Patience with a pen or pencil, the act, being always associated with conscious thought, would set her consciousness to work, and put Patience “awhither.”

Dr. Z.—“How did you know this avenue was open?”

Patience.—“I did to seek at crannies for to put; aye, and ’twer the her o’ her who tireth past the her o’ her, and slippeth to a naught o’ putting; and ’twer the me o’ me at seek, aye, and find. Aye, and ’twer so.”

At the time Patience first presented herself to Mrs. Curran, she (Mrs. Curran) was very tired, and was sitting at the board with Mrs. Hutchings, with her head, as she expresses it, absolutely empty.

Dr. Z.—“Did you go forth to seek, or were you sent?”

Patience.—“There be nay tracker o’ path ne’er put thereon by sender.”

Dr. Z.—“Did you know of the ouija board and its use before?”

Patience.—“Nay, ’tis not the put o’ me, the word hereon. ’Tis the put o’ me at see o’ her.

“I put athin the see o’ her, aye and ’tis the see o’ ye that be afulled o’ the put o’ me, and yet a put thou knowest not.

“That which ye know not o’ thy day hath slipped it unto her, and thence unto thee. And thee knowest ’tis not the put o’ her; aye, and thee knowest ’tis ne’er a putter o’ thy day there be at such an put. Aye, and did he to put, ’twould be o’ thy day and not the day o’ me. And yet ye prate o’ why and whence and where. I tell thee ’tis thee that knowest that which ye own not.”

Dr. Z.—“Why don’t we own it, Patience?”

Patience.—“’Tis at fear o’ gab.”

It is no easy task to untangle that putting of puts, but, briefly, it seems to mean that Patience does not put her words on the board direct, with the hands of Mrs. Curran, but transmits her words through the mind or inner vision of Mrs. Curran, and yet it is the word of Patience and not of Mrs. Curran that is recorded. This accords with Mrs. Curran’s impressions. And thou knowest, Patience farther says, that it is not the language of her, and no writer of thy day would or could write in such a language as I make use of.

Returning to Dr. X. and his party. They were present again a few days after the interview just given, having with them a Miss J., a newspaper writer from an Ohio city. Dr. X. in the meantime had thought much upon the phenomena, and Patience immediately directed her guns upon the anatomist, in this manner:

Patience.—“Hark ye, lad, unto thee I do speak. Thou hast a sack o’ the wares o’ me, and thou hast eat therefrom. Yea, and thou hast spat that which thou did’st eat, and eat it o’er. And yet thou art not afulled.

“Hark! Here be a trick that shall best thee at thine own trick. Lo, thou lookest upon flesh and it be but flesh. Yea, thou lookest unto thy brother, and see but flesh. And yet thy brother speakest word, and thou sayest: ‘Yea, this is a man, aye, the brother o’ me.’ Then doth death lay low thy brother, and he speak not word unto thee, thou sayest: ‘Nay, this is no man; nay, this is but clay.’ Then lookest thou unto thy brother, and thou seest not the him o’ him. Thou knowest not the him o’ him (the soul) but the flesh o’ him only.

“More I tell thee. Thy very babe wert not flesh; yea, it were as dead afore the coming. Yet, at the mother’s bearing, it setteth within the flesh. And thou knowest it and speak, yea, this is a man. And yet I tell thee thou knowest not e’en the him o’ him! Then doth it die, ’tis nay man, thou sayest. Yet, at the dying and afore the bearing, ’twer what? The him o’ him wert then, and now, and ever.

“Yea, I speak unto thee not through flesh, and thou sayest: This is no man, yea, for thine eyes see not flesh, yet thou knowest the me o’ me, and I speak unto thee with the me o’ me. And thou art where upon thy path o’ learning!”

There was some discussion following this argument in which Dr. X. admitted that he accepted only material facts and believed but what he saw.

Patience.—“Man maketh temples that reach them unto the skies, and yet He fashioneth a gnat, and where be man’s learning!

“The earth is full o’ what the blind in-man seeth not. Ope thine eye, lad. Thou art athin dark, and yet drink ye ever o’ the light.”

Dr. X.—“That’s all right, Patience, and a good argument; but tell me where the him o’ him of my dog is.”

Patience.—“Thou art ahungered for what be thine at the hand o’ thee. Thy dog hath far more o’ Him than thy brothers who set them as dogs and eat o’ dog’s eat. The One o’ One, the All o’ All, yea, all o’ life holdeth the Him o’ Him, thy Sire and mine! ’Tis the breath o’ Him that pulses earth. Thou asketh where abides this thing. Aneath thy skull’s arch there be nay room for the there or where o’ this!”

Miss J. then took the board and Patience said:

“She taketh it she standeth well athin the sight o’ me that she weareth the frock o’ me.”

This caused a laugh, for it was then explained by the visitors that Miss J. had chosen to wear a frock somewhat on the Puritan order, having a gray cape with white cuffs and collar, and had said she thought Patience would approve of it.

Patience.—“Here be a one aheart ope, and she hath the in-man who she proddeth that he opeth his eyes. Yea, she seest that which be and thou seest not.”

It was remarked that Patience was evidently trying to be very nice to Miss J.

Patience.—“Nay, here be a one who tickleth with quill, I did hear ye put. Think ye not a one who putteth as me, be not a love o’ me? Yea, she be. And I tell thee a something that she will tell unto ye is true. Oft hath she sought for word that she might put, and lo, from whence she knoweth not it cometh.”

Miss J. said this was true.

Patience.—“Shall I then sing unto thee, wench?”

Miss J. expressed delight, and the song followed.

The interest of Dr. X. in this phenomenon brought an eminent psychologist, associated with one of the greatest state universities in the country, some distance from Missouri, for an interview with Patience. He shall be known here as Dr. V. With him and Dr. X. was Dr. K., a physician. Dr. V. sat at the board first, and Patience said to him:

“Here be a one, verily, that hath a sword. Aye, and he doth to wrap it o’er o’ silks. Yea, but I do say unto thee, he doth set the cups o’ measure at aright, and doth set not the word o’ me as her ahere (Mrs. Curran). Nay, not till he hath seen and tasted o’ the loaf o’ me; and e’en athen he would to take o’ the loaf and crumb o’ it to bits and look unto the crumb and wag much afore he putteth. And he wilt be assured o’ the truth afore the putting.”

This was discussed as a character delineation.

Patience.—“I’d set at reasoning. Since the townsmen do fetch aforth for the seek o’ me, and pry aneath the me o’ me, then do thou alike. Yea, put thou unto me.”

Dr. V.—“Why fear Death?”

Patience.—“Thou shouldst eat o’ the loaf (her writings). Ayea, ’tis right and meet that flesh shrinketh at the lash.”

Dr. V. was told of her poems on the fear of death.

Dr. V.—“What do you think of the attempts to investigate you? Is it right?”

Patience.—“Ayea. And thou hast o’ me the loaf o’ the me o’ me, and thou hast o’ it afar more than thou hast o’ thy brother o’ earth, and yet they seek o’ me and seek ever.”

Dr. V.—“Have you ever lived?”

Patience.—“What! Think ye that I be a prater o’ thy path and ne’er atrod? Then thou art afollied, for canst thou tell o’ here?”

Dr. V.—“When did you live on earth?”

Patience.—“A seed aplanted be watched for grow. Ayea, but the seed held athin the palm be but a seed, and Earth hath seeds not aplanted that she casteth forth, e’en as she would to cast forth me, do I not to cloak me much.”

Dr. V.—“I understand; but can you not answer a little clearer the question I put?”

Patience.—“The time be not ariped for the put o’ this.”

Dr. V.—“What does Lethe mean?”

Patience.—“This be a tracker! Ayea, ’tis nay a word o’ thy day or yet the word o’ thy brother, that meaneth unto me. I be a maker o’ loaf for the hungered. Eat thou. ’Tis not aright that thou shouldst set unto the feast athout thou art fed.”

By this she seemed to mean that she wanted him to read her writings and see what it is she is endeavoring to do. She continued:

“Brother, this be not a trapping o’ thy sword, the seeking o’ me. Nay, ’tis ahind a cloak I do for to stand, that this word abe, and not me.”

Mr. Curran here stated that this had ever been so; that Patience had obscured herself so that her message could not be clouded.

Patience.—“Aright. I do sing.

After this Dr. K., who resides in St. Louis, took the board.

Patience.—“Here abe a townsman. Aye, a Sirrah who knoweth men and atruth doth ne’er acloak the blade o’ him as doth brother ayonder. Ayea, ahind a chuckle beeth fires.

“There abe weave ’pon the cloth o’ me, yea, but ’tis nay ariped the time that I do weave. Yea, thou hast a pack o’ tricks. Show unto me, then, thine.”

Here Dr. V. asked: “Do you know Dr. James?”

This referred to the late Dr. William James, the celebrated psychologist of Harvard.

Patience.—“I telled a one o’ the brothers and the neighbors o’ thy day, and he doth know.”

She had given such an answer to a frequent visitor who had inquired as to her knowledge of several eminent men long since dead. It was considered an affirmative answer.

Dr. V.—“Have you associated with Dr. James?”

Patience.—“Hark! Unto thee I do say athis; ’tis the day’s break and Earth shall know, e’en athin thy day, much o’ the Here.

“This, the brother o’ ye, the seeker o’ the Here, hath set a promise so, and ’tis for to be, I say unto thee. Thou knowest ’tis the word o’ him spaked in loving. Yea, for such a man as the man o’ him wert, standeth as a beacon unto the Here.”

Dr. V.—“Could Dr. James, by seeking as you did, communicate with someone here as you are doing?”

Patience.—“This abe so; he who seeketh abe alike unto thee and thee. Ayea, thee and thy brother do set forth with quill, and thou dost set aslant, and with thy hand at the right o’ thee. And thy brother doth trace with the hand at the left of him. And ’tis so, thou puttest not as him. This, the quill o’ me, be for the put o’ me, and doth he seek and know the trick o’ tricks o’ sending out a music with the quill o’ me, it might then be so.”

This was interpreted as meaning that if Dr. James could find one who had the conditions surrounding Mrs. Curran, and was able to master the rhythm which Patience uses to give the matter to her, then he could do it.

When the record of the foregoing interview was being copied, Mrs. Curran felt an impulse to write. Taking the board, Patience indicated that she had called, and at once set forth, apparently for Dr. V., the following explanation of her method of communication and the principle upon which it is based:

Patience.—“Aye, ’tis a tickle I be. Hark, there be a pulse—Nay, she (Mrs. Curran) putteth o’ the word! Alist.—There abe a throb; yea, the songs o’ Earth each do throb them, like unto the throbbing o’ the heart that beareth them. Yea, and there be a kinsman o’ the heart that beareth them. Yea, and there be a kinsman o’ thee who throbbeth as dost thou. Yea, and he knoweth thee as doth nay brother o’ thee whose throb be not as thine. So ’tis, the drop that falleth athin the sea, doth sound out a silvered note that no man heareth. Yet its brother drops and the drop o’ it do to make o’ the sea’s voice. Aye, and the throb o’ the sea be the throb o’ it. So, doth thy brother seek out that he make word unto thee from the Here, he then falleth aweary. For thee of Earth do hark not unto the throb. And be the one aseeked not attuned unto the throb o’ him he findeth, ’tis nay music. So ’tis, what be the throb o’ me and the throb o’ her ahere, be nay a throb o’ music’s weave for him aseek.

“I tell thee more. The throb hath come unto thy day long and long. Yea, they be afulled o’ throb, and yet nay man taketh up the throbbing as doth the sea. The drop o’ me did seek and find, and throb met throb o’ loving. Yea, and even as doth the sea to throb out the silvered note o’ drop, even so doth she to throb out the love o’ me.”

This seems, in effect, a declaration that communications of this character are a matter of attunement, possible only between two natures of identical vibrations, one seeking and the other receptive. It indicates too that her rhythmical speech has an influence upon the facility of her utterances. At another time she described her own seeking in this verse:

When the foregoing verse was received, Dr. X. was again present, this time with his wife and two physicians, Dr. R. and Dr. P. It will have been observed that many doctors of many kinds have “sat at the feet” of Patience Worth, but all, as I have said, have come as the friends of friends of Mrs. Curran, upon her invitation, or upon that of Mr. Curran. On this occasion Patience began:

“They do seek o’ me, ever; that they do see the pettiskirt o’ me, and eat not o’ the loaf! (More interested in the phenomenon than the words.) Ayea, but he ahere (Dr. R.) hath a wise pate. Aye, he seeketh, and deep athin the heart o’ him sinketh seed o’ the word o’ me. Aye, even though he doth see the me o’ me athrough the sage’s eye o’ him, still shall he to love the word o’ me.”

After due acknowledgments from Dr. R., she continued:

“Yea, brother, hark unto the word o’ me, for thou dost seek amid the fields o’ Him! Aye, and ’tis, thou knowest, earth’s men that be afar amore awry athin the in-man than in the flesh. And ’tis the in-man o’ men thou knowest.”

Dr. R., a neurologist, gave hearty assent.

“Put thou unto me. (Question me.) ’Tis awish I be that ye weave.”

Dr. R.—“Do you see through Mrs. Curran’s eyes and hear through her ears?”

Patience.—“Even as thou hast spoke, it be. Aye, and yet I say me ’tis the me o’ me that knoweth much she heareth and seeth not.”

Then to a question had she ever talked before with anyone, she said: “Anaught save the flesh o’ me.”

“Fetch ye the wheel,” she commanded, “that I do sit and spin.”

This was one of her ways of saying that she desired to write on her story, and she dictated several hundred words of it, after which Dr. P. took the board and she said:

“What abe ahere? A one who seeth sorry and maketh merry! Yea, a one who leaveth the right hand o’ him unto its task, and setteth his left at doing awry o’ the task o’ its brothers. Aye, he doeth the labors o’ his brother, aye, and him. Do then, aweave.”

In compliance some more of the story was written, and then Dr. R. “wondered” why he could not write for Patience, to which she answered:

“Hark unto me, thou aside. Thou shalt put (say) ’tis her ahere (i.e., Mrs. Curran, who does it); ayea, and say much o’ word, and e’en set down athin thy heart thy word o’ what I be, and yet I tell thee, I be me! Aye, ever, and the word o’ me shall stand, e’en when thou and thou art ne’er ahere!

“E’en he who doth know not o’ the Here hath felt the tickle o’ my word, and seeketh much this hearth.

“Then eat thee well and fill thee up, and drink not o’ the brew o’ me and spat forth the sup. Nay, fill up thy paunch. ’Twill merry thee!”

Dr. P. asked her a question about her looks.

“’Tis a piddle he putteth,” she said.

And now we come to a sitting of a lighter character. There were present at this Dr. and Mrs. D., Mr. and Mrs. M. and Mrs. and Miss G.

“Aflurry I be!” cried Patience. “Aye, for the pack o’ me be afulled o’ song and weave, and e’en word to them ahere.

“Yea, but afirst there be a weave, for the thrift-bite eateth o’ me.” (The bite of her thrifty nature.)

Some of the story followed and then she said to Mrs. M., who sat at the board:

“Here be aone who doth to lift up the lid o’ the brew’s pot, that she see athin! Aye, Dame, there abe but sweets athin the brew for thee. Amore, for e’en tho’ I do brew o’ sweets and tell unto thee, I be a dealer o’ sours do I to choose! Ayea, and did I to put the spatting o’ thee athin the brew, aye verily ’twould be asoured a bit!” Then deprecatingly: “’Tis a piddle I put!

“Yea, for him aside who sitteth that he drink o’ this brew do I to sing; fetch thee aside, thee the trickster o’ thy day!”

There being so many “tricksters” in the room, they were at a loss to know which one she meant. Mr. C. asked if she meant Dr. D., but Patience said:

“Thinkest thou he who setteth astraight the wry doth piddle o’ a song? Anay, to him who musics do I to sing.”

This referred to Mr. G., who is a musician and a composer, and he took the board. Patience at once gave him this song:

Patience then turned her attention to Mr. M., saying:

“Ayea, he standeth afar from the feasting place and doth to smack him much!”

Mr. M. took the board, and she began to talk to him in an intimate way about the varying attitudes of people toward her and her work, and what they say of her:

“I be a dame atruth,” she said, “and I tell thee the word o’ wag that shall set thy day, meaneth anaught but merry to me. Hark! I put a murmur o’ thy day, for at the supping o’ this cup the earth shall murmur so:

“’Tis but the chatter o’ a wag! Aye, the putting o’ the mad! ’Tis piddle! Yea, the trapping o’ a fool! Yea, ’tis but the dreaming o’ the waked! Aye, the word o’ a wicked sprite! Yea, and telleth naught and putteth naught!

“And yet, do harken unto me. They then shall seek to taste the brew and sniff the whiffing o’ the scent; ayea, and stop alonger that they feast! And lo, ’twill set some asoured, and some asweet; aye and some, ato (too), shall fill them upon the words THEY do to put o’ me, and find them filled o’ their own put, and lack the room for eat o’ the loaf o’ me. ’Tis piddle, then! Aye, and yet I say me so, ’tis bread, and bread be eat though it be but sparrows that do seek the crumb. Then what care ye? For bake asurely shall be eat!”

This is a point she often makes, and strives earnestly to impress—that whatever she may be, whatever the world may think she is, there is substance in her words. It is bread, and will be eaten, if only by the sparrows. So, she is content. She has put this thought, somewhat pathetically, into the little verse which follows:

“I be a dame who knoweth o’ the hearth. Aye, and do to know o’ the hearts o’ men,” she said to Mrs. D., who next took the place with Mrs. Curran. “Ayea, and do to put o’ that athin the hearts o’ them that doth tickle o’ their merry! This be a tale for her ahere.”

The Story of the Herbs

“Lo, there wert a dame and her neighbor’s dame and her neighbor’s dame. And they did to plant them o’ their gardens full. And lo, at a day did come unto the garden’s ope a stranger, who bore him of a bloom-topped herb. And lo, he spaked unto the dame who stood athin the sun-niche that lay at the garden’s end, and he did tell unto her of the herb he bore. And lo, he told that he would give unto her one of these, and to her neighbor dame a one, atoo (also), and to her neighbor dame a one atoo, and he then would leave the garden’s place and come at the fulling o’ the season-tide when winter’s bite did sear, and that he then would seek them out, and they should shew unto him the fulling o’ the herb.

“And lo, he went him out unto the neighbor’s dame and telled unto her the same, and to her neighbor’s dame the same, and they did seek one the other and tell o’ all the stranger had told unto them. And each had sorry, for feared ’twer the cunger o’ the wise men, and each aspoke her that she would to care and care for this the herb he did to leave, and that she would have at the fulling o’ the season the herb that stood at the fullest bloom. And each o’ the dames did speak it that this herb o’ her should be the one waxed stronger at the fulling. And lo, none told unto the other o’ how this would to be.

“And lo, the first o’ dames did plant her herb adeep and speak little, and lo, her neighbor dames did word much o’ the planting, and carried drops from out the well that the herbs might full. And lo, they did pluck o’ the first bud that them that did follow should be afuller. And lo, the dame afirst o’ the garden the stranger did to seek, did look with sunked heart at the thriving o’ the herbs o’ the neighbor dames. And lo, she wept thereon, and ’twer that her well did dry, and yet she seeked not the wells of her sisters. Nay, but did weep upon the earth about the herb, and lo, it did to spring it up. And lo, she looked not with greed upon her sister’s herb; nay, for at the caring for the bloom, lo, she loved its bud and wept that she had nay drop to give as drink unto it.

“And lo, at a certain day the stranger came and did seek the dames, and came him unto her garden where the herb did stand, and he bore the herbs of her sisters, and they wert tall and full grown and filled o’ bloom. And he did to put the herb o’ her sisters anext the herb o’ her, and lo, the herb o’ her did spring it up, and them o’ her sisters shrunked to but a twig. And he did call unto the dames and spake:

“‘Lo, have ye but fed thy herb that it be full o’ bloom, that thou shouldst glad thee o’er thy sister? And lo, the herb o’ her hath drunked her tears shed o’ loving, and standeth sweet-bloomed from out the tears o’ her.’

“And lo, the herb did flower aneath their very eyes. And lo, the flowering wert fulled o’ dews-gleam, and ’twer the sweet o’ her heart, yea, the dew o’ heaven.”

Following this pretty parable someone spoke of a newspaper article that had appeared that day, and Patience remarked:

“’Tis a gab o’ fool. Aye, and the gab o’ fool be like unto a spring that be o’erfull o’ drops, ’tis ne’er atelling when it breaketh out its bounds.”

With this sage observation she dismissed the “fool” as unworthy of further consideration, and gave this poem:

A little of the reasoning of Patience upon Earth questions may appropriately come in here. The Currans, with a single visitor, had talked at luncheon of various things, beginning with music and ending with capital punishment, the latter suggested by an execution which at the moment was attracting national attention. When they took the board, after luncheon, Patience said:

“List thee. Earth sendeth up much note. Yea, and some do sound them at wry o’ melody, and others sing them true. And lo, they who sing awry shall mingle much and drown in melody. And I tell thee, o’er and above shall sound the note o’ me!”

And then she gave them to understand that she had listened to their discussion!

“Ye spake ye of eye for eye. Yea, and tooth for tooth. Yea, but be thy brother’s eye not the ope o’ thine, then ’tis a measure less the full thou hast at taking o’ the eye o’ him. Yea, and should the tooth o’ him put crave for carrion, and thine for sweets, then how doth the tooth o’ him serve thee?”

Here the sitters asked: “How about a life for a life, Patience?”

Patience.—“Ye fill thy measure full o’ sands that trickle waste at each and every putting. I tell thee thou hast claimed life; aye, and life be not thine or yet thy brother’s for the taking or giving. Yea, and such an soul hath purged at the taking or giving, and rises to smile at thy folly.

“Aye, and more. List! The earth’s baggage, hate, and might, and scorn, fall at earth’s leave, a dust o’ naught, like the dust o’ thy body crumbleth.

“Thou canst strip the body, yea, but the soul defieth thee!”

The visitor referred to in the preceding talk is a frequent guest of the Currans, and is one of the loved ones of Patience. This visitor, who is a widow, remarked one evening that Patience was deep and lived in a deep place.

“Aye,” said Patience, “a deeper than word. There be ahere what thou knowest abetter far than word o’ me might tell. (This seems to refer to the visitor’s husband.) Ayea thou hungereth, and bread be thine, for from off lips that spaked not o’ the land o’ here in word o’ little weight, thou hast supped of love, and know the path that be atrod by him shall be atrod even so by thee, e’en tho’ thou shouldst find the mountain’s height and pits o’ depth past Earth’s tung.

“Shouldst thou at come o’ here to hark unto the sound of this voice, thinkest thou that heights, aye or depths, might keep thee from there? And even so, doth not the one thou seeketh too, haste e’en now to find the path and waiteth?

“Then thinkest thou this journey be lone? Nay, I tell thee, thou art areach e’en past the ye o’ ye, and he areach ato. Then shall the path’s ope be its end and beginning. In love is the end and beginning of things.

“Yea, yea, yea, the earth suppeth o’ the word o’ me, and e’en at the supping stoppeth and speaketh so. What that one not o’ me doth brew. Thou knowest this, dame. Aye, but what then? And why doth not the blood o’ me speak unto me?

“’Tis a merry I be. Lo, have I not fetched forth unto a day that holdeth little o’ the blood o’ me, that I might deal alike unto my brother and bring forth word that be ahungered for aye, and they speak them o’ her ahere and wag and hark not? Yea, and did the blood o’ them spake out unto their very ears I vow me ’twould set the earth ariot o’ fearing. Yea, man loveth blood that hath not flowed, but sicketh o’er spilled blood. Yea, then weave.”

There was some discussion following this, to the effect that whatever explanations might be given of this phenomenon, many would believe in Patience Worth as an independent personality, which brought from her the following discourse which may well conclude these conversations:

“Yea, the tooth o’ him who eateth up the flesh I did to cloak me athin, shall rot and he shalt wither. Aye, and the word o’ me shalt stand. Fires but bake awell.

“Sweet hath the sound of the word o’ Him asounded unto the ears o’ Earth that hark not.

“Yea, and He hath beat upon the busom of Earth and sounded out a loud noise, and Earth harkened not.

“And He hath sung thro’ the mother’s songs o’ Earth, and Earth harkened not.

“Yea, and He hath sent His own with word, and Earth harkened not.

“Then ’tis Earth’s own folly that batheth her.

“Yea, and Folly cometh astreaming ribbands, and showering color, and grinning ’pon his way.

“Yea, but Folly masketh and leadeth Earth and man assuredly unto Follies pit—self. And self is blind.

“Then whence doth Earth to turn for aid? For Folly followeth not the blind, and the voice of him who falleth unto the pit of Folly soundeth out a loud note. Yea, and it echoeth ’self.’

“And lo, the Earth filled up o’ self, hearketh not unto the words of Him, the King of Wisdom.

“Yea, and I say unto thee, though them o’ Him fall pierced and rent athin the flow o’ their own blood thro’ the self-song o’ his brother, he doeth this for Him.

“And the measuring rod shall weight out for him who packeth the least o’ self athin him, afull o’ measure, and light for him who packeth heavy o’ self.

“Ayea, and more. I speak me o’ lands wherein the high estate be self. Yea, yea, yea, o’ thy lands do I to speak. Woe unto him who feareth that might shall slay! Self may wield a mighty blow, but it slayeth never.

“’Tis as the dame who watcheth o’er her brood, and lo, this one hath sorry, and that one hath sorry. And she flitteth here and yon, and lo, afore she hath fetched out the herbs, they sleep them peaceful. So shall it be at this time. The herbs shall be fetched forth but lo, the lands shall sleep them peaceful.

“Yea, for Folly leadeth, and Wisdom warreth Folly.”