I forgot the sting in my eyes watching Mrs. Freshett. She was
the largest woman I knew, and strong as most men. Her hair was
black and glisteny, her eyes black, her cheeks red, her skin a
clear, even dark tint. She was handsome, she was honest, and she
was in earnest over everything. There was something about her,
or her family, that had to be told in whispers, and some of the
neighbours would have nothing to do with her. But mother said
Mrs. Freshett was doing the very best she knew, and for the sake
of that, and of her children, anyone who wouldn't help her was
not a Christian, and not to be a Christian was the very worst
thing that could happen to you. I stared at her steadily. She
talked straight along, so rapidly you scarcely could keep up with
the words; you couldn't if you wanted to think about them any
between. There was not a quiver in her voice, but from her eyes
there rolled, steadily, the biggest, roundest tears I ever saw.
They ran down her cheeks, formed a stream in the first groove of
her double chin, overflowed it, and dripped drop, drop, a drop at
a time, on the breast of her stiffly starched calico dress, and
from there shot to her knees.

"'Twa'n't no time at all 'til he was chokin' an' burnin' red with
fever, an' his pa and me, stout as we be, couldn't hold him down
nor keep him kivered. He was speechifyin' to beat anythin' you
ever heard. His pa said he was repeatin' what he'd heard said by
every big stump speaker from Greeley to Logan. When he got so
hoarse we couldn't tell what he said any more, he jest mouthed
it, an' at last he dropped back and laid like he was pinned to
the sheets, an' I thought he was restin', but 'twa'n't an hour
'til he was gone."