every cent she could spare to the meetin' house, it wuz spozed that
Samuel Danker wuz the biggest offerin' she had ever give to it.

Fur it wuz known that he went to her the night before he sot sail, took
supper with her, and told her she should decide the matter for him,
whether he went or whether he staid.

It wuz spozed his love for Submit wuz so great that it made him waver
when the time come that he must leave her to her lot of toil and
sacrifice and loneliness.

But Submit loved the Methodist meetin' house to that extent, she leaned
so hard on the arm of Duty, that she nerved up her courage anew, refused
to accept the sacrifice of his renunciation, bid him go to his great
work, and quit himself like a man--told him she would always love him,
pray for him, be constant to him. And she felt that the Master they both
wanted to serve would some day bring him back to her.

So he sailed away to his heathens--and Submit stayed to home with her
five helpless males and her achin' heart. And if I had to tell which
made her the most trouble, I couldn't to save my life.

She knew the secret of her achin' heart, and the long dark nights she
kep awake with it. The neighbors couldn't understand that exactly, for
there hain't no language been discovered yet that will give voice to
the silent crys of a breakin' heart, a tender heart, a constant heart,
cryin' out acrost the grayness of dreary days acrost the blackness of
lonely nights.

But we could see her troubles with the peevish paralasys of age, with