"What do you ask for it?"
"Two Yorkers."
"That is very cheap, if it is any weight. I don't like them under
ten or twelve pounds."
"Ten or twelve pounds! Why, woman, what do you mean? Would you
expect a rooster to be bigger nor a turkey?"
We stared at each other. There was evidently some misconception
on my part.
"Bring the roaster up; and if I like it, I will buy it, though
I must confess that I am not very fond of roast pig."
"Do you call this a pig?" said my she-merchant, drawing a fine
game-cock from under her cloak.
I laughed heartily at my mistake, as I paid her down the money for
the bonny bird. This little matter settled, I thought she would take
her departure; but that rooster proved the dearest fowl to me that
ever was bought.
"Do you keep backy and snuff here?" says she, sideling close up to me.
"We make no use of those articles."
"How! Not use backy and snuff? That's oncommon."
She paused, then added in a mysterious, confidential tone -
"I want to ask you how your tea-caddy stands?"
"It stands in the cupboard," said I, wondering what all this might
mean.
"I know that; but have you any tea to spare?"
I now began to suspect what sort of a customer the stranger was.
"Oh, you want to borrow some? I have none to spare."
"You don't say so. Well now, that's stingy. I never asked anything
of you before. I am poor, and you are rich; besides, I'm troubled so
with the headache, and nothing does me any good but a cup of strong
tea."
"The money I have just given you will buy a quarter of a pound of
the best."
"I guess that isn't mine. The fowl belonged to my neighbour. She's
sick; and I promised to sell it for her to buy some physic. Money!"
she added, in a coaxing tone, "Where should I get money? Lord bless
you! people in this country have no money; and those who come out
with piles of it, soon lose it. But Emily S - - told me that you are
tarnation rich, and draw your money from the old country. So I guess
you can well afford to lend a neighbour a spoonful of tea."
"Neighbour! Where do you live, and what is your name?"
"My name is Betty Fye - old Betty Fye; I live in the log shanty over
the creek, at the back of your'n. The farm belongs to my eldest son.
I'm a widow with twelve sons; and 'tis - - hard to scratch along."
"Do you swear?"
"Swear! What harm? It eases one's mind when one's vexed. Everybody
swears in this country. My boys all swear like Sam Hill; and I used
to swear mighty big oaths till about a month ago, when the Methody
parson told me that if I did not leave it off I should go to a
tarnation bad place; so I dropped some of the worst of them."
"You would do wisely to drop the rest; women never swear in my
country."
"Well, you don't say! I always heer'd they were very ignorant.
Will you lend me the tea?"
The woman was such an original that I gave her what she wanted.
As she was going off, she took up one of the apples I was peeling.
"I guess you have a fine orchard?"
"They say the best in the district."
"We have no orchard to hum, and I guess you'll want sarce."
"Sarce! What is sarce?"
"Not know what sarce is? You are clever! Sarce is apples cut up and
dried, to make into pies in the winter. Now do you comprehend?"
I nodded.
"Well, I was going to say that I have no apples, and that you have a
tarnation big few of them; and if you'll give me twenty bushels of
your best apples, and find me with half a pound of coarse thread to
string them upon, I will make you a barrel of sarce on shares - that
is, give you one, and keep one for myself."
I had plenty of apples, and I gladly accepted her offer, and Mrs.
Betty Fye departed, elated with the success of her expedition.
I found to my cost, that, once admitted into the house, there was no
keeping her away. She borrowed everything that she could think of,
without once dreaming of restitution. I tried all ways of affronting
her, but without success. Winter came, and she was still at her old
pranks. Whenever I saw her coming down the lane, I used
involuntarily to exclaim, "Betty Fye! Betty Fye! Fye upon Betty Fye!
The Lord deliver me from Betty Fye!" The last time I was honoured
with a visit from this worthy, she meant to favour me with a very
large order upon my goods and chattels.
"Well, Mrs. Fye, what do you want to-day?"
"So many things that I scarce know where to begin. Ah, what a thing
'tis to be poor! First, I want you to lend me ten pounds of flour to
make some Johnnie cakes."
"I thought they were made of Indian meal?"
"Yes, yes, when you've got the meal. I'm out of it, and this is a
new fixing of my own invention. Lend me the flour, woman, and I'll
bring you one of the cakes to taste."
This was said very coaxingly.
"Oh, pray don't trouble yourself. What next?" I was anxious to see
how far her impudence would go, and determined to affront her if
possible.
"I want you to lend me a gown, and a pair of stockings. I have to go
to Oswego to see my husband's sister, and I'd like to look decent."
"Mrs. Fye, I never lend my clothes to any one. If I lent them to
you, I should never wear them again."
"So much the better for me," (with a knowing grin). "I guess if you
won't lend me the gown, you will let me have some black slack to
quilt a stuff petticoat, a quarter of a pound of tea and some sugar;
and I will bring them back as soon as I can."
"I wonder when that will be.
