ep--and meachin'er--and he never took a minute's comfort,
nor I nuther. He was sick all the way back to the shore, and so was I.
And jest as we got into our wagons and started for home, the rain began
to pour down. The wind turned our old umberell inside out in no time. My
lawn dress was most spilte before, and now I give up my bonnet. And I
says to Josiah:

"This bonnet and dress are spilte, Josiah Allen, and I shall have to buy
some new ones."

"Wal, wal! who said you wouldn't?" he snapped out.

But it were on him. Oh, how the rain poured down! Josiah, havin' nothin'
but a handkerchief on his head, felt it more than I did. I had took a
apron to put on a-gettin' dinner, and I tried to make him let me pin it
on his head. But says he, firmly:

"I hain't proud and haughty, Samantha, but I do feel above ridin' out
with a pink apron on for a hat."

"Wal, then," says I, "get as wet as sop, if you had ruther."

I didn't say no more, but there we jest sot and suffered. The rain
poured down; the wind howled at us; the old mare went slow; the
rheumatiz laid holt of both of us; and the thought of the new bonnet and
dress was a-wearin' on Josiah, I knew.

There wasn't a house for the first seven miles, and after we got there I
thought we wouldn't go in, for we had got to get home to milk anyway,
and we was both as wet as we could be. After I had beset him about the
apron, we didn't say hardly a word for as much as thirteen miles or so;
but I did speak once, as he leaned forward, with the rain drippin' offen
his bandanna handkerchief onto his blue pantaloons. I says to him in
stern tones:

"Is this pleasure, Josiah Allen?"

He give the old mare a awful cut and says he: "I'd like to know what you
want to be so aggravatin' for?"

I didn't multiply any more words with him, only as we drove up to our
doorstep, and he helped me out into a mud-puddle, I says to him:

"Mebbe you'll hear to me another time, Josiah Allen."

And I'll bet he will. I hain't afraid to bet a ten-cent bill that that
man won't never open his mouth to me again about a pleasure exertion.

* * * * *

A simple-hearted and truly devout country preacher, who had tasted but
few of the drinks of the world, took dinner with a high-toned family,
where a glass of milk punch was quietly set down by each plate. In
silence and happiness this new Vicar of Wakefield quaffed his goblet,
and then added, "Madam, you should daily thank