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.
