The home journal. (Winchester, Tenn.) 1858-188?, 1873-05-22

JnouBHt, lullcylHB uh"u ny PcOPlo ho
meant Miss Maggie, but, in reality,
fealing more faltering of purpose in a
nearer party.
Let the Sunday night be what it may,
Monday morning follows it all the same.
Maggie was glad that it was Monday
morning, since it left her at liberty to
sit with her sewing in quiet corner by
a window, unquestioned and undisturb-
ed, while busy Aunt Polly, who would
allow no inexperienced fingers to inter
meddle with her washing, and lame
Aunt Becky, who always would stay
where Polly was, were in the kitchen
adjoining, No ordinary kitchen was
This, steaming, soapy and disconsolate,
but large, pleasant, tidy room, where
Aunt Becky could enjoy her armchair
and her knitting together with Aunt
Polly's discourse. The latter lady was
unusually talkativo on wash-day. Pos
sibly being surrounded by tubs and
piles of linen suggested, vaguely, pull
pit or speakers stand, perhaps having
had all Sunday to think in, her opinions
needed shaking out and smoothing be-
fore they were lai away for the week.
At any rate, Miss Polly had way of
doing I'D the world and her washing to-
gether.
"Most through, Polly ?" questioned
Miss Becky, as she always did every
half-hour.
"Cant say L am," responded Miss
Polly with snap that shook ont a pair
of wet hose and her words ut the same
time "not unless | view my washin
the samc way these new style poets do
the robe of righteousness, and think Il
mighty little is the whole ont. One
clean stocliin' is enough 'cordin' to
them. No matter how much mud u
body has gone into, so he's managed to
keep one foot out / don't blicve no
such ~
"Why, of course to be sure" !" ad.
mitted Miss Becky, with mild indefinite
ness.
"Curious what kinds Of folks this
world does hold, anyhow" pursued
Miss Polly, gazing mcditatiyely into
the depths of her tub. "Thcrc's them
that has health on the brain, now-not
that their brains is SO partic'lar healthy
neither, that / know Of but they're al
ways taIkin' about it. You must do
this, and you mustn't do tother, for
fear you'll sple your constitution and
all your bylaws, Some Of 'cm says
it's sin to be sick. Pears to me, if
that's so, the sickcr you get the wicked
er you must be, and dyin' would seem
filter to send folks to the pcnitcntiary
than to Heaven. 1t makes things look
considerably mixed"
"Thore's the railroad smNsh-ups,
Polly" suggested Miss Becky, allcviat-
ingly.
"Humph Well, / should think
there was. But everybody can't expect
to get killed that way, though the com
panies offer great inducements, NUT
tered Miss Polly.
"Say, Aunt Polly, can't ! sail ships
in you tub?" interposcd n small voice
and n pair of blue eyes and head of
tangled yellow curls appeared in the
doorway.
But Miss Polly was too busy to no.
tice, even when the little navigator took
silence for consent, and plunged into
her rinse with his treasures. In
this general straightening-up of her
mental pantry, she had just found an
other article to be labeled and put away.
"All sorts to make world Ishould
think so There's them rcformin' wo-
men what go about lecturin' and wantin'
laws fixed, and men to give 'cm their
rights. Land sakes why don't they
Jest take their rights? Ii there's any
thing they want to do, and can do, why
don't they stop talkin' and do it ? Who's
goin' to hinder 'em? They're just like
Mrs. Jones when she wants to cross
the field where the cows are. She'll
stand on the fence and 'shoo, and
swing her work-bag, and flap her para
sol, and cry, Get ont there 7 when the
creatures are so busy eatin' grass that
they never notice her no way, and she
might cross n dozen times if she'd
mind to-"
"And me, too; yes, / think so, b"
observed Miss Becky, counting her
stitches.
"But then I don't say some folks
haven't as good a right to vote as any
body, and more too, for all | know, If
they be womon," pursued Miss Polly,
frisking around to the other side of her
tub, and surveying the suds from that
point. "Puts me clear out of patience
to hear all this talk about its spilin'
women,- ,-'sif we was lot of eggs that
must be kept cool and not shook up
much, and calm us 'ministerin'
angels all the time. Do L look much
like on angel, Becky Murry?"
The resemblance was not very strik-
ing as she stood there with her sleeves
rolled up, her bare arms akimbo, a wet