ruther, sayin' that he would come back in a few minutes.

And as I sot there alone Memory went on and onrolled her panorama in
front of my eyeballs, about my singular eppisode with Drusilla Blanker.

Sister Blanker is a good woman and a Christian, but she never so much as
sot her foot on the fair plains of megumness, whose balmy, even climate
has afforded me so much comfort all my life.

No; she is a woman who stalks on towards goles and don't mind who or
what she upsets on her way.

She is a woman who a-chasin' sinners slams the door in the faces of
saints.

And what I mean by this is that she is in such a hurry to git inside the
door of Duty (a real heavy door sometimes, heavy as iron), she don't see
whether or not it is a-goin' to slam back and hit somebody in the
forward.

A remarkable instance of this memory onrolled on her panorama--a
eppisode that took place in our own Jonesville meetin'-house.

The session room where we go to session sometimes and to transact other
business has got a heavy swing door. And everybody who goes through it
always calculates to hold it back if there is anybody comin' behind 'em,
for that door has been known to knock a man down when it come onto him
onexpected and onbeknown to him.

Wall, Sister Blanker wuz a-goin' on ahead of me one night; it wuz a