MINERVA

n Sheffield. That’s only in the summer time, when he comes there to take the sea baths.” “Why, how you talk—Sheffield ain’t on the sea.” “Well, who said it was?” “Why, you did.” “I _didn’t_ nuther.” “You did!” “I didn’t.” “You did.” “I never said nothing of the kind.” “Well, what _did_ you say, then?” “Said he come to take the sea _baths_—that’s what I said.” “Well, then, how’s he going to take the sea baths if it ain’t on the sea?” “Looky here,” I says; “did you ever see any Congress-water?” “Yes.” “Well, did you have to go to Congress to get it?” “Why, no.” “Well, neither does William Fourth have to go to the sea to get a sea bath.” “How does he get it, then?” “Gets it the way people down here gets Congress-water—in barrels. There in the palace at Sheffield they’ve got furnaces, and he wants his water hot. They can’t bile that amount of water away off there at the sea. They haven’t got no conveniences for it.” “Oh, I see, now. You might a said that in the first place and saved time.” When she said that I see I was out of the woods again, and so I was comfortable and glad. Next, she says: “Do you go to church, too?” “Yes—regular.” “Where do you set?” “Why, in our pew.” “_Whose_ pew?” “Why, _ourn_—your Uncle Harvey’s.” “His’n? What does _he_ want with a pew?” “Wants it to set in. What did you _reckon_ he wanted with it?” “Why, I thought he’d be in the pulpit.” Rot him, I forgot he was a preacher. I see I was up a stump again, so I played another chicken bone and got another think. Then I says: “Blame it, do you suppose there ain’t but one preacher to a church?” “Why, what do they want with more?” “What!—to preach before a king? I never did see such a girl as you. They don’t have no less than seventeen.” “Seventeen! My land! Why, I wouldn’t set out such a string as that, not if I _never_ got to glory. It must take ’em a week.” “Shucks, they don’t _all_ of ’em preach the same day—only _one_ of ’em.” “Well, then, what does the rest of ’em do?” “Oh, nothing much. Loll around, pass the plate—and one thing or another. But mainly they don’t do nothing.” “Well, then, what are they _for?_” “Why, they’re for _style_. Don’t you know nothing?” “Well, I don’t _want_ to know no such foolishness as that. How is servants treated in England? Do they treat ’em better ’n we treat our niggers?” “_No!_ A servant ain’t nobody there. They treat them worse than dogs.” “Don’t they give ’em holidays, the way we do, Christmas and New Year’s week, and Fourth of July?” “Oh, just listen! A body could tell _you_ hain’t ever been to England by that. Why, Hare-l—why, Joanna, they never see a holiday from year’s end to year’s end; never go to the circus, nor theater, nor nigger shows, nor nowheres.” “Nor church?” “Nor church.” “But _you_ always went to church.” Well, I was gone up again. I forgot I was the old man’s servant. But next minute I whirled in on a kind of an explanation how a valley was different from a common servant and _had_ to go to church whether he wanted to or not, and set with the family, on account of its being the law. But I didn’t do it pretty good, and when I got done I see she warn’t satisfied. She says: “Honest injun, now, hain’t you been telling me a lot of lies?” “Honest injun,” says I. “None of it at all?” “None of it at all. Not a lie in it,” says I. “Lay your hand