to marry him ‘cause his father wanted him to, never dreaming but that she’d say
‘no.’ But mind you, she said ‘yes.’ There was a predicament for you. Jog along,
black mare. She was a great housekeeper, but most awful mean. She wore the
same bonnet for eighteen years. Then she got a new one and W.O. met her on
the road and didn’t know her. Jog along, black mare. I feel that I’d a narrer
escape. I might have married him and been most awful miserable, like my poor
cousin, Jane Ann. Jane Ann married a rich man she didn’t care anything about,
and she hasn’t the life of a dog. She come to see me last week and says, says she,
‘Sarah Skinner, I envy you. I’d rather live in a little hut on the side of the road
with a man I was fond of than in my big house with the one I’ve got.’ Jane
Ann’s man ain’t such a bad sort, nuther, though he’s so contrary that he wears
his fur coat when the thermometer’s at ninety. The only way to git him to do
anything is to coax him to do the opposite. But there ain’t any love to smooth
things down and it’s a poor way of living. Jog along, black mare. There’s Janet’s
place in the hollow—‘Wayside,’ she calls it. Quite pictureaskew, ain’t it? I guess
you’ll be glad to git out of this, with all them mail bags jamming round you.”
“Yes, but I have enjoyed my drive with you very much,” said Anne sincerely.
“Git away now!” said Mrs. Skinner, highly flattered. “Wait till I tell Thomas
that. He always feels dretful tickled when I git a compliment. Jog along, black
mare. Well, here we are. I hope you’ll git on well in the school, miss. There’s a
short cut to it through the ma’sh back of Janet’s. If you take that way be awful
keerful. If you once got stuck in that black mud you’d be sucked right down and
never seen or heard tell of again till the day of judgment, like Adam Palmer’s
cow. Jog along, black mare.”