She
appeared very warm, but pleased with herself for having gone. As she
sank down in the chair and began to agitate the fan, Mrs. Lathrop's
eyes fairly gleamed with anticipation.
"I s'pose--" she began.
"Well, no," said Susan, "seems they ain't, after all. The air down
town is more like a revival than anythin' else, everybody 's up
tellin' their experience an' callin' out on Heaven to save 'em. 'N'
the worst of all is Mrs. Brown!--she _never_ knew 't Henry Ward
Beecher walks in his sleep! No more did I nor nobody else, 'n' I must
say 't I do think 't the minister 'd ought to 'a' told some of us so's
we could 'a' been a little prepared, for there's many a night 's I've
left clothes out on the line 's I'd never risked 'f I'd been aware o'
the possibility o' Henry Ward Beecher bein' broad-cast. Mrs. Brown
says, though, 's it ain't his walkin' in his sleep as is troublin'
her, it's his eatin' in his walkin'. Mrs. Lathrop, you never hear the
like o' what she told me! It's beyond all belief! He eat the Sunday
layer-cake 'n' the Sunday-dinner pie 'n' the whole week's tin o'
doughnuts, 'n' then went back to bed 'n' never turned a hair.
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