"I ain't sayin' anything against the child, Samanthy Ann; you said
yourself she wa'n't cut out for a Shaker!"

"No more she is," laughed Samantha, when her good humor was restored.
"She'd like the singin' 'n' dancin' well enough, but 't would be hard
work smoothin' the kink out of her hair 'n' fixin' it under one o' their
white Sunday bunnets. She wouldn't like livin' altogether with the
women-folks, nuther. The only way for Gay 'll be to fetch her right up
with the men-folks, 'n' hev her see they ain't no great things, anyway.
Land sakes! If 't warn't for dogs 'n' dark nights, I shouldn't care if I
never see a man; but Gay has 'em all on her string a'ready, from the boy
that brings the cows home for Jabe to the man that takes the butter to
the city. The tin peddler give her a dipper this mornin', and the
fish-man brought her a live fish in a tin-pail. Well, she makes the
house a great sight brighter to live in, you can't deny that, Vildy."

"I ain't denyin' anything in partic'ler. She makes a good deal of work,
I know that much. And I don't want you to get your heart set on one or
both of 'em, for 't won't be no use. We could make out with one of 'em,
I suppose, if we had to, but two is one too many. They seem to set such
store by one another that 't would be like partin' the Siamese twins;
but there, they'd pine awhile, and then they 'd get over it. Anyhow,
they'll have to try."

"Oh yes; you can git over the small-pox, but you'll carry the scars to
your grave most likely. I think 't would be a sin to part them children.
I wouldn't do it no more 'n I'd tear away that scarlit bean that's
twisted itself round 'n' round that pink hollyhock there. I stuck a
stick in the ground, and carried a string to the winder; but I didn't
git at it soon enough, the bean vine kep' on growin' the other way,