Samantha at Saratoga Part 5

And there I wuz, a settin' in my rockin' chair, and I seemed to be a floatin' down deep water, very deep. A thinkin' and a wonderin'.

A thinkin' how all through the ages what secrets G.o.d had told to man when the time had come, and the reverent soul below was ready to hear the low words whispered to his soul, and a wonderin' what strange revelation G.o.d held now, ready to reveal when the soul below had fitted itself to hear, and comprehend it.

Ah! such mysteries as He will reveal to us if we will listen. If we wait for G.o.d's voice. If we did not heed so much the confusing clamor of the world's voices about us. Emulation, envy, anger, strife, jealousy; if we turned our heads away from these discords, and in the silence which is G.o.d's temple, listened, listened, -- who knows the secrets He would make known to us?

Secrets of the day, secrets of the night, the sunshine, the lightning, the storm. The white glow of that wonderful light that is not like the glow of the sun or of the moon, but yet lighteth the world. That strange light that has a soul - that reads our thoughts, translates our wishes, overleaps distance, carrying our whispered words after holding our thoughts for ages, and then unfoldin' 'em at will. What other wondrous mysteries lie concealed, wrapped around by that soft pure flame, mysteries that shall lie hidden until some inspired eye shall be waiting, looking upward at the moment when G.o.d's hand shall draw back the shining veil for an instant, and let him read the glowing secret.

Secrets of language! shall some simple power, some symbol be revealed, and the nations speak together?

Secrets of song! shall some serene, harmonious soul catch the note to celestial melodies?

Secrets of sight! shall the eyes too dim now, see the faces of the silent throngs that surround them, "the great cloud of witnesses"?

Secrets of the green pathways that lead up through the blue silent fields of s.p.a.ce - shall we float from star to star?

Secrets of holiness! shall earthly faces wear the pure light of the immortals?

But oh! who shall be the happy soul that shall be listening when the time has fully come and He shall reveal His great secret? The happy soul listening so intently that it shall catch the low, clear whisper.

Listening, maybe, through the sweet twilight shadows for the wonderful secret, while the silver shallop of the moon is becalmed over the high northern mountains, as if a fleet of heavenly guests had floated down through the clear ocean waves of the sky to listen too - to hear the wonderful heavenly secret revealed to man - and a clear star looks out over the glowing rose of the western heavens, looking down like G.o.d's eye, searching his soul, searching if it be worthy of the great trust.

Maybe it will be in the fresh dawning of the day, that the great secret will grow bright and clear and luminous, as the dawning of the light.

Maybe it will be in the midst of the storm - a mighty voice borne along by the breath of the wind and the thunder, clamoring and demanding the hearer to listen.

Oh! if we were only good enough, only pure enough, what might not our rapt vision discern?

But we know not where or when the time shall be fully come, but who, who, shall be the happy soul that shall, at the time, be listening?

Oh! how deep, how strange the waters wuz, and how I floated away on 'em, and how I didn't. For there I wuz a settin in my own rockin' chair and there opposite me sot my own Josiah a whittlin', for the "World" hadn't come, and he wuz restless and ill at ease, and time hung heavy on his hands.

There I sot the same Samantha - and the thought of the Smedleys, the same old Smedleys, was a hantin' of me, the same old hant, and I says to my Josiah, says I: "Josiah, I can't help thinkin' about the Smedleys," says I. "What do you think about havin' a pound party for 'em, and will you take holt, and do your part?"

"Good land, Samantha! Are you crazy? Crazy as a loon? What under the sun do you want to pound the Smedleys for? I should think they had trouble enough without poundin' 'em. Why," says he, "the old woman couldn't stand any poundin' at all, without killin' her right out and out, and the childern haint over tough any of 'em. Why, what has got into you? I never knew you to propose anything of that wicked kind before. I sha'n't have anything to do with it. If you want 'em pounded you must get your own club and do your own poundin'."

Says I, "I don't mean poundin' 'em with a club, but let folks buy a pound of different things to eat and drink and carry it to 'em, and we can try and raise a little money to get a warmer horse for 'em to stay in the coldest of the weather."

"Oh!" says he, with a relieved look. "That's a different thing.

I am willin' to do that. I don't know about givin' 'em any money towards gettin' 'em a home, but I'll carry 'em a pound of crackers or a pound of flour, and help it along all I can."

Josiah is a clever creeter (though close), and he never made no more objections towards havin' it.

Wall, the next day I put on my shawl and hood (a new brown hood knit out of zephyr worsted, very nice, a present from our daughter Maggie, our son Thomas Jefferson's wife), and sallied out to see what the neighbor's thought about it.

The first woman I called on wuz Miss Beazley, a new neighbor who had just moved into the neighborhood. They are rich as they can be, and I expected at least to get a pound of tea out of her.

She said it wuz a worthy object, and she would love to help it along, but they had so many expenses of their own to grapple with, that she didn't see her way clear to promise to do anything. She said the girls had got to have some new velvet suits, and some sealskin sacques this winter, and they had got to new furnish the parlors, and send their oldest boy to college, and the girls wanted to have some diamond lockets, and ought to have 'em but she didn't know whether they could manage to get them or not, if they did, they had got to scrimp along every way they could. And then they wuz goin' to have company from a distance, and had got to get another girl to wait on 'em. And though she wished the poor well, she felt that she could not dare to promise a cent to 'em. She wished the Smedley family well -- dretful well -- and hoped I would get lots of things for 'em. But she didn't really feel as if it would be safe for her to promise'em a pound of anything, though mebby she might, by a great effort, raise a pound of flour for 'em, or meal.

Says I dryly (dry as meal ever wuz in its dryest times), "I wouldn't give too much. Though," says I, "A pound of flour would go a good ways if it is used right." And I thought to myself that she had better keep it to make a paste to smooth over things.

Wall, I went from that to Miss Jacob Hess'es, and Miss Jacob Hess wouldn't give anything because the old lady wuz disagreeable, old Grandma Smedley, and I said to Miss Jacob Hess that if the Lord didn't send His rain and dew onto anybody only the perfectly agreeable, I guessed there would be pretty dry times. It wuz my opinion there would be considerable of a drouth.

There wuz a woman there a visitin' Miss Hess -- she wuz a stranger to me and I didn't ask her for anything, but she spoke up of her own accord and said she would give, and give liberal, only she wuz hampered. She didn't say why, or who, or when, but she only sez this that "she wuz hampered," and I don't know to this day what her hamper wuz, or who hampered her.

And then I went to Ebin Garven'ses, and Miss Ebin Garven wouldn't help any because she said "Joe Smedley had been right down lazy, and she couldn't call him anything else."

"But," says I, "Joe is dead, and why should his children starve because their pa wasn't over and above smart when he wuz alive?"

But she wouldn't give.

Wall, Miss Whymper said she didn't approve of the manner of giving. Her face wuz all drawed down into a curious sort of a long expression that she called religus and I called somethin'

that begins with "h-y-p-o" -- and I don't mean hypoey, either.

No, she couldn't give, she said, because she always made a practise of not lettin' her right hand know what her left hand give.

And I said, for I wuz kinder took aback, and didn't think, I said to her, a glancin' at her hands which wuz crossed in front of her, that I didn't see how she managed it, unless she give when her right hand was asleep.

And she said she always gave secret.

And I said, "So I have always s'posed -- very secret."

I s'pose my tone was some sarcastic, for she says, "Don't the Scripter command us to do so?"

Says I firmly, "I don't believe the Scripter means to have us stand round talkin' Bible, and let the Smedleys starve," says I.

"I s'pose it means not to boast of our good deeds."

Says she, "I believe in takin' the Scripter literal, and if I can't git my stuff there entirely unbeknown to my right hand I sha'n't give."

"Wall," says I, gettin' up and movin' towards the door, "you must do as you're a mind to with fear and tremblin'."

I said it pretty impressive, for I thought I would let her see I could quote Scripter as well as she could, if I sot out.

But good land! I knew it wuz a excuse. I knew she wouldn't give nothin' not if her right hand had the num palsy, and you could stick a pin into it -- no, she wouldn't give, not if her right hand was cut off and throwed away.

Wall, Miss Bombus, old Dr. Bombus'es widow, wouldn't give -- and for all the world -- I went right there from Miss Whymper'ses.

Miss Bombus wouldn't give because I didn't put the names in the Jonesville Augur or Gimlet, for she said, "Let your good deeds so shine."

"Why," says I, "Miss Whymper wouldn't give because she wanted to give secreter, and you won't give because you want to give publicker, and you both quote Scripter, but it don't seem to help the Smedleys much."

She said that probably Miss Whymper was wrestin' the Scripter to her own destruction."

"Wall," says I, "while you and Miss Whymper are a wrestin' the Scripter, what will become of the Smedleys? It don't seem right to let them 'freeze to death, and starve to death, while we are a debatin' on the ways of Providence."

But she didn't tell, and she wouldn't give.

A woman wuz there a visitin', Miss Bombus'es aunt, I think, and she spoke up and said that she fully approved of her niece Bombus'es decision. And she said, "As for herself, she never give to any subject that she hadn't thoroughly canva.s.sed."

Says I, "There they all are in that little hut, you can canva.s.s them at any time. Though," says I, thoughtfully, "Marvilla might give you some trouble." And she asked why.

And I told her she had the rickets so she couldn't stand still to be canva.s.sed, but she could probably follow her up and canva.s.s her, if she tried hard enough. And says I, "There is old Grandma Smedley, over eighty, and five children under eight, you can canva.s.s them easy."