- end_line
- 5910
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:47:56.336Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 5825
- text
- "Well, I've heard that some women ain't all maple-sugar; but, content
with dear Martha, I don't know much about others."
"You find rare wisdom in the woods," mused I.
"Now, husband, if you ain't too tired, just lend a hand to draw the
table out."
"Nay," said I; "let him rest, and let me help."
"No," said William, rising.
"Sit still," said his wife to me.
The table set, in due time we all found ourselves with plates before us.
"You see what we have," said Coulter--"salt pork, rye-bread, and
pudding. Let me help you. I got this pork of the Squire; some of his
last year's pork, which he let me have on account. It isn't quite as
sweet as this year's would be; but I find it hearty enough to work on,
and that's all I eat for. Only let the rheumatiz and other sicknesses
keep clear of me, and I ask no flavors or favors from any. But you
don't eat of the pork!"
"I see," said the wife, gently and gravely, "that the gentleman knows
the difference between this year's and last year's pork. But perhaps he
will like the pudding."
I summoned up all my self-control, and smilingly assented to the
proposition of the pudding, without by my looks casting any reflections
upon the pork. But, to tell the truth, it was quite impossible for me
(not being ravenous, but only a little hungry at that time) to eat
of the latter. It had a yellowish crust all round it, and was rather
rankish, I thought, to the taste. I observed, too, that the dame did
not eat of it, though she suffered some to be put on her plate, and
pretended to be busy with it when Coulter looked that way. But she ate
of the rye-bread, and so did I.
"Now, then, for the pudding," said Coulter. "Quick, wife; the Squire
sits in his sitting-room window, looking far out across the fields. His
time-piece is true."
"He don't play the spy on you, does he?" said I.
"Oh, no!--I don't say that. He's a good enough man. He gives me work.
But he's particular. Wife, help the gentleman. You see, sir, if I lose
the Squire's work, what will become of--" and, with a look for which I
honored humanity, with sly significance, he glanced toward his wife;
then, a little changing his voice, instantly continued--"that fine
horse I am going to buy?"
"I guess," said the dame, with a strange, subdued sort of inefficient
pleasantry--"I guess that fine horse you sometimes so merrily dream of
will long stay in the Squire's stall. But sometimes his man gives me a
Sunday ride."
"A Sunday ride!" said I.
"You see," resumed Coulter, "wife loves to go to church; but the
nighest is four miles off, over yon snowy hills. So she can't walk it;
and I can't carry her in my arms, though I have carried her up-stairs
before now. But, as she says, the Squire's man sometimes gives her a
lift on the road; and for this cause it is that I speak of a horse I
am going to have one of these fine sunny days. And already, before
having it, I have christened it 'Martha.' But what am I about? Come,
come, wife! The pudding! Help the gentleman, do! The Squire! the
Squire!--think of the Squire! and help round the pudding. There,
one--two--three mouthfuls must do me. Good-by, wife. Good-by, sir, I'm
off."
And, snatching his soaked hat, the noble Poor Man hurriedly went out
into the soak and the mire.
I suppose now, thinks I to myself, that Blandmour would poetically say,
He goes to take a Poor Man's saunter.
"You have a fine husband," said I to the woman, as we were now left
together.
"William loves me this day as on the wedding-day, sir. Some hasty
words, but never a harsh one. I wish I were better and stronger for
his sake. And, oh! sir, both for his sake and mine" (and the soft,
blue, beautiful eyes turned into two well-springs), "how I wish little
William and Martha lived--it is so lonely-like now. William named after
him, and Martha for me."
- title
- Chunk 4