There wuzn’t hardly a dry eye in my head as I stood a-lookin’ at Elaine.

And jest at this wropped moment I heard some voices nigh me that I recognized a-sayin’ in glad and joyous axents, “How do you do, Josiah Allen’s Wife?”

I turned and met seven glad extended hands, and thirteen eyes lookin’ at mine, in joyous welcome, besides one glass eye (and you couldn’t tell the difference, it wuz so nateral—­Oren bought the best one money could git when his nigh eye wuz put out by a steer gorin’ it).  Yes, it wuz Oren Rumble and Lateza, his wife, and the hull of the family—­the five girls, Barthena, Calfurna, Dalphina, Albiny, and Lateza.

But what a change had swep’ over the family sence I had last looked on ’em!

I could hardly believe my two eyes when I looked at their costooms, for the hull family had dressed in black for upwards of ’leven years, and Jonesvillians had got jest as ust to seein’ ’em as they wuz a-seein’ a flock of crows in the spring.

And I do declare it wuz jest as surprisin’ to me to see the way they wuz rigged out as it would be to see a lot of crows a-settlin’ down on our cornfield with red and yeller tail feathers.

To home they didn’t go nowhere, only to meetin’—­the mother bein’ very genteel, comin’ down as she did from a very old and genteel family.  Dretful blue blood I spoze her folks had—­blue as indigo, I spoze.  And she didn’t think it wuz proper to go into society in mournin’ clothes—­she thought it would make talk for mourners to git out and enjoy themselves any in crape.

Oren wuz naterally of a lively disposition, and loved to visit round, and it made it bad for him.  But he felt quite proud of marryin’ such a aristocratic woman, and so he had to take the bitter with the sweet.

Besides their bein’ so old, she had come from a mournin’ family—­her folks always mourned for everybody and everything they could. (You know some families are so, and I spoze they git some comfort out of it.  And black duz look real respectable, but considerable gloomy.)

Their house wuz always shet up, and Oren walked round (rebellin’ inside) under a mournin’ weed.

And the six wimmen was all swathed in crape, and the hull house smelt of crape and logwood.

As I sez more formally, Lateza was brung up to it.  She wuz ready to mourn on the slightest pretext, and mourn jest as long and stiddy as possible.

Wall, black wuz becomin’ to her.  Bein’ tall and spindlin’, black sot her off, and crape draperies sort o’ rounded off her figger and made her look some impressive.

And she loved to stay at home—­she wuz made that way.

But I always felt that if she wanted to make a raven of herself for life, she no need to dye the feathers of the hull family in logwood, and tie ’em all up clost to the nest.

Oren had chafed aginst it bitterly, but he bore the sable yoke until the youngest girl, Lateza (and mebby she inherited some of the aristocratic sotness of her mother with the name)—­