best you could with them, finish the work you have begun in as artistic and perfect a way as you can?"
I was cautious, I didn't come out as I wanted to, so I sez, "How would it work?"
But she sez agin, "It wouldn't work at all." Sez she, "To describe the beauty of home and love, and child life in marble and poem and picture, she had to be severed entirely from all low and ignoble cares."
"Low and ignoble!" sez I, for that kinder madded me. "No work a woman can do is more noble and elevatin' than to make a beautiful home where lovely children rise up to call her blessed. Such a work is copyin' below as nigh as mortals can the work divine; for isn't Heaven depictered as our everlastin' home, and God the Father as lovin' and carin' for His children with everlastin' love, countin' the hairs of their heads even, He takes such clost care of 'em?"
"He don't order us to be shingled, either," spoke up Josiah. "He don't begretch the work of countin' our hair."
I wunk at him to be calm, for oh! how cross his axent wuz, but knowin' that famine wuz the cause of it I didn't contend, but resoomed:
"See how our Father beautifies and ornaments our home, Evangeline, with the glories of spring and summer, fills it with the perfume of flowers, the song of birds, hangs above us His dark blue mantilly studded with stars, and from the least little mosses in hid-away nooks up to the everlastin' march of the planets, every single thing is perfect and in order. His tireless love and care never ceases, but surrounds us every moment in the home He makes and keeps up for us below," sez I. "If a woman prefers to keep aloof from the cares and
