Democratic Sentinel, Volume 11, Number 50, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 January 1888 — Cotton Week Anti Scandal Society [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Cotton Week Anti Scandal Society

O THE EDITOR:-! thought mebbe you would like to hear about our Society; Band so I’m a-goin’ to "write you a short ’count of our last meeting.

We met about 2 o’clock of a Wednesday afternoon, at Sister Sawtell’s. After we had tuk off our bunnets, an’ eat down, an talked about the weather a few minutes, Sister Deacon Buzbee (she’s the Presidentess) she rapped onto the table with her thimble an’ save:

“This here meeting will now come to order quicker n scat. An’ the fust thing on the program is for the Sectarian to read the minutes. ” We all hustled round and come to order, an’ Sister Goodall read the minutes ; but they might better have been called hours, from the time it tuk her to read ’em. But she got ’em read at last, and then Sister Deacon Buzbee says: “Before we p'erceed to any futher Business, I will egsplain the objecks of this here society, seein’ there is some new members come in that ain’t never been here before. We hcv got two objecks : “One of ’em is to sew and an’ make up different articles, of all sorts, like fancy apurns, lamp-mats, pin-cushings,

and sich, to sell, an’ the money to be gave to help s’port the preacher. The money has to be got riz, somehow, fur the Preacher’s wife has been grum-, blin’ right Bin art of late to the Deacon, because they don’t get enough sullery to keep ’em in vittles and close. “Most they do get is donations, an’ the things donated is not accordm’ito their needs. Fur instants, she says they could have got along a spell yet without a chany sheperdess to set on the parlor mantel. An’ they wan’t acshiily sufferin’ fur a pair o’ bleached domestiek piller-shams, with lace borders onto ’em. But, though, she said, she could use the piller-shams to make little Tommy a petticoat, and the lace

would do to go round Amelia Alice’s Sunday apurn. “An’ when folks did donate vittles, she said a mess of dried beans or potatoes would be more exceptible than eighteen apple-pies an’ a dish-pan full of slitters. She hadn’t nothin’ to say agin the pies an’ the slitters, they was good eatin’ fur once ’n a while; but fur a real stiddy diet she didn’t think tbey was so healthy as some other things, an’, besides, they was apt to couck the childern. An ? so, as I was a-sayin’, one of the objecks of this meetin’ is to sew things an’ sell ’em, an’ raise some money fur the Preacher’s family. It’s got to be riz somehow, the Deacon states, fur it stan’s to reason that a family of two grown-uppers an’ nine children can’t live altogether on chany shepherdesses an’ piller-shams an’ slitters, an’ sich. “An’ the other objeck is to prevent the spreadin’ of Scandal. Nobuddy belong n’ to this society is all owed to tell a scan’alous story, to the determent of their neighbors or nobuddy else. “If that their stuck-up Miss Lawyer Greene chooses to air her bed-cloze on the front porch every day of her life, jest to show ’em, an’ let folks see how many patchworks an’ tied comforts she’s got, ’tain’t none of our business. We ain’t got to tell it. “An’ if Dr. Pottle’s wife has cake onto

her table twice a day, an’ gives her husban’ fried pies fur breakfast, an’ makes her hired gal set down to the second table, like she was a-tellin’ my Mahala last week, none of ns needn’t to say nothin’ about it. We hain’t got no call to spread it round. “Or if Nancy Marier Stricklan’

wears year-bobs, an’ frizzles her hair over her furrid, an’ purtends to be

fashionabler then us, ’tain’t none of our consarns. We kin feel sorry fur her, an’ be glad we hev got better sense; but we needn’t to tell pther folks. We all* hev [our failures, an’ we j must larn to be forbearing’ towards fel-ler-citters,

“An’ so, in order to help us ke-ip from tattlin’ about, our neighbors, we air a-goin’ to take turns in tellin’ stories. Something we heve beared or read, or else some of our own egsperience. “An’ now the meetin’ may perceed to sew, an’ Sister Saphelia Crookneck may begin her story, bein’ she was

chose synonymous at the last meetin’ to do the talkin’ to-day. ” Sister Deacon Buzbee sot down, an’ we all put on our th mbles an’ begun to sew; an’ Sister Saphelia got up an’ sot down in the Boston rocker. She is one o’ these here tall, beanpoly kind of wimen, and alius wears a hoop in the bottom of her under-skeert. 11 makes her dress stick out at the bottom, an’ looks kind o’ quare, bein’ it’s flat all the rest of the way up; but it seems to kind o’ match with her nose, that’s long and straight and pints up’ards at the eend. But she’s a real pious woman, an’ good-hearted, too. She sot down in the Boston rocker, an’ tuk out her knittin’, fur she said she could talk better if her hands was busy as well as her tongue. An’ then she says, “A-ham! Did any of the sisters ever hev any egsperience with a Bur-gle-er ?” We all sliruck, an’ says, “La, no!’’and Sister’ Sawtell’s biggest gal, Matildy Ann, scrouged so close up to

me T cum nigh jabbin’ her in the eye with my needle. “Oh, I’m so feared o’ the burgle-ers,” she says. “Do tell us all about him, Sister Saphelia.” An’* so she dared her throat, and picked up a stitch she had drapped in the toe of the sock she was knittm’, an’ then she says: “ ’Twas a good many year ago, an’ Sister Calline—she’s the oldest of us gals—she had married Hiram Blinker, an’ had went over to Sassafras Holler, where they begun to housekeep in a bran-new cabin Hiram had built on the forty acres his paw give him. Calline had ‘right smart of a settin’-out, too. She had a cookstove. and a cow with a heifer calf, an’ two feather beds an’ bedstids, an’ half a dozen dominicker hens. An’ she had plenty of blankets, an’ patchwork quilts, an’ .two blue kiverlids she handwove an’ made herself. So they was fixed real snug. But she felt 'ind o’ lonesome, off there by herself, with no-

body but Hiram, an’ him out in the field all day, tendin’ t o his craps, or else in the clearin’ maulkin’ rails fur a Iworm fence. An’ so, fust chance she got, she sent fur me to come an’ make her a visitation. An’ I .went. The cabin was in a.sort of holler, an’ nary other house

nigher than five miles; so I didn’t wonder she was lonesome. But they had a good dog—Jack was his name—an’ Calline said she wa’nt noways afeared to stay alone all day, though I would of been, with Hiram out' o’ sight an’ hearin’; an’ tramps cornin’ round once an’ a while to git a bite to eat. “But Oalline hadn’t a speck of cowardness about her. She wasn’t like me. I was alius afeared o’ my own shadder, most, and wouldn’t of stayed alone all day in that house fur a pretty. But bein’ we was both together 1 didn’t feel so skeory; an’ after dinner I an’ Calline washed tne dishes an’ redd up the room, an’ then we went to the milk-house,.an’skum the milk fur next day’s churning. Long towards night the cow come home, an’ I milked her, * while Oaliine was a-doin’ up the other chores.” “An’ did you see the burgle-er, then ?”, says Matildy Ann. "Jest you wait,” says Sister Saphelia. “I’m a-comin to him.” “When ’twas too dark to see any more, an’ the whip-poor-wills was ahollering out in the woods, an’ the bats an’ night-hawks a-fiittering round the house, Hiram come, an’ we all had supper an| went to bed. The cabin was built like this here one, with a room ftt each oend, an’ a wide, open passage-

betwixt’em. Hiram and Calline slep’ in the one where they cooked an’ eat, an’ I slep’ in tother’n. ’Twas a

powerful warm night, an’ Calline said* 1 better leave my door open. But I was too skeery fur that, so I shet an’ bolted the door an’ went to bed. 1 hadn’t got quite to sleep, but was jest a-droppin’ off, when I heerd something that made me trim’le all over, and the cole chills run up an’ down my back.” “Oh,” said Matildy Ann, “I’m so skeeied!” “You ain’t nigh so skeered as I was,” says Sister Saphelia, “fur what I heared was somebuddy a-breathin’, right under my bed.” We all struck right out, at that, an’ Matildy Ann scrouged up so close to me I come pretty near jabbin’ her agin. “I wonder you didn’t holler,” says Sister Sawtell. “I dassent,” says Sister Saphelia. “I was afeared he’d jump right out ’an cut off my head. So I jest laid an’ trim’led an’ didn’t dass to move; an’ I could hear him a-breathin’ louder an’ louder. I knowed Hiram had fifteen dollars locked|up in the bury drawer, ’n’ of course I thought right off that was what he was after. ‘Mebbe if he gits

it,’ thinkses I, ‘he’ll be off an’ not kill me.’ But I wa’nt sure about it. Bur-gle-ers air pesky mean, sometimes; an’ pritty soon I heared him a-movin’ under the bed, an’ I felt like I would die. He moved round, an’ kep a-movin,’ sort of easy-like, an’ thinkses I, ‘Now he’s a-goin’ to tackle me.’ An’ my heart most stopped a-beating, I was that skeered; an’ even then I couldn’t help a-thinkin’ if I’d only of left my door open, as Sister Calline had told me, how much better ’twould be, fur I might give a jump, an’ git clare out ’afore the burgle-er could Jiave said beans. But there I was, shet up with him, an’ the door bolted. ” “But do tell us how you got' away!”

says Matildy Ann. “Fur you must of got away somehojv, or you wouldn’t be here, a-tellin’ it. ” “I’m a-comin’ to the p’int,” Sister Saphelia says. “All to once, he quit movin’ around, an’ made a snorty, snuffiy kind of a

noise, somethin’ like a snore, an’ then he gaped real loud, like he had been asleep an’was half wakin’ up. An’ at that I jumped right up in bed an’ bust out a-laflßn’.” “Oh!” says we all, fur we was real dumbfou n d e r e d when she said that. “Yes,” she said,

“I busted right out a-laffin’, fur I knowed that gape wa’nt nfade by a man, but a dog. His breathin’ had sounded exactly like a human’ critter; but when he gaped real long an’ loud, like this—‘Ah-ow-wooh!’—an’ bet on the floor with his

tail, then I knowed ’twas a dog. ” We all had to laugh at the way Sister Saphelia mocked a dog a-gap-ing.but Matildy Ann looked a leetle grain disap’inted. “Then, ’twa’nt no burgle-er after all,” she says. “No,” says Sister .Saphelia, “hut I was ‘jest as skeered as if

it had of been one. But I got up and turned Jack out the door. I s’pose he had snuck under the bed ’fore I went in. an’ had went to sleep there. But after I diskivered him, an’ turned him opt, I went to bed an’ slep’ so sound I never waked up when the chickens crowed day. Calline and Hiram had a good laugh when I told ’em my egsperience; but ’twa’nt no laughin’ matter to me at the time. An’ sence that I alius look under a bed ’fore I" git in it.” When she had got through, Sister Sawtell ah’ Matildy Ann hustled round an’ got supper. ’Twas a right good meal o’ vittles they got up, too—cold

riz bread, an’ warm biscuit, an’ blackberry jell, an’ peaches an’ cream, an* fried chickin an’ aigs, an’ custard pie. An’when Sister Sawtell come in an’ asked us all to walk out to supper, Sister Deacon Buzbee says: “This meetin’ will now put away their sewin’an’ eat supper.” An’ after supper we chose Sister Betsey Hopper to talk at the next meetin’, Sister Buzbee had envited us to meet at her house next time, an’ so then we sojourned an’ went home. Respectfully yourn, Libby Limbf.rtwig. Cotton Crick, Misoury.