st as true as anything
in the Bible, and it sounds like it might 'a' come out o' the Bible,
don't it, child?

"Then another lady read some o' Brownin's poetry, 'Pary--' somethin'
or other."

"Paracelsus," I suggested.

"That's it," said Aunt Jane, "but I ain't a bit wiser than I was
before, for I never did find out whether that was the name of a man or
a woman or a town or a river or what. I set and listened, and every
now and then it'd seem like there was somethin' that I could
understand, but before I could lay hold of it here'd come a lot o' big
words that I never heard tell of before, and, I declare to goodness,
my old brains got tired tryin' to git some sense out o' that poetry.
Why, it was jest like tryin' to read at night by the light o' the
fire. The fire'll blaze up, and you'll see everything plain for a
minute, and then it'll die down, and there you are in the dark again.

"Well, when the lady got through readin' the poetry, she said she was
goin' to read her interpretation of it. I ricollected how Joseph
interpreted Pharaoh's dream and Daniel interpreted Nebuchadnezzar's
dream, and I says to myself, 'Now, I'll find out all about it.' But
bless your life, child, the poetry was hard enough to understand, but
the interpretation was a heap harder; and I says to myself, 'Brownin's
poetry never was intended for a old woman like me.' And I jest leaned
back in my chair and looked at the hats and the bonnets the ladies
had on. Pretty clothes always was one o' my weak points, and will be
till I die, I reckon. When I was a child father used to question us
children about the sermon when we got home from church. I never could
tell much about it, except the text, and I ricollect hearin' mother
say to him one Sunday, 'If Jane could jest remember as much about the
sermon as she remembers about the hats and bonnets, we could have her
ordained to preach.'

"There was one hat I saw at the Brownin' Club that I'll ricollect as
long as I ricollect 'The Angelus.' It was made out o' white lace and
trimmed with pink roses that made me think o' the roses in my
weddin'-bonnet, only they was buds and these was full-blown ones, so
full-blown that it looked like they was ready to shatter and fall if
the wind blew on 'em, and so natural you could almost smell 'em. I
declare, that hat made me wish I was a young gyirl again.

"Then Henrietta read her paper, and it was jest as pretty a story as
ever I listened to; about him fallin' in