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|Uncle Tom's Cabin||Harriet Beecher Stowe|
|Page 2 of 4||
Mrs. Shelby ceased talking, with something of a sigh. The fact was, that though her husband had stated she was a woman, she had a clear, energetic, practical mind, and a force of character every way superior to that of her husband; so that it would not have been so very absurd a supposition, to have allowed her capable of managing, as Mr. Shelby supposed. Her heart was set on performing her promise to Tom and Aunt Chloe, and she sighed as discouragements thickened around her.
"Don't you think we might in some way contrive to raise that money? Poor Aunt Chloe! her heart is so set on it!"
"I'm sorry, if it is. I think I was premature in promising. I'm not sure, now, but it's the best way to tell Chloe, and let her make up her mind to it. Tom'll have another wife, in a year or two; and she had better take up with somebody else."
"Mr. Shelby, I have taught my people that their marriages are as sacred as ours. I never could think of giving Chloe such advice."
"It's a pity, wife, that you have burdened them with a morality above their condition and prospects. I always thought so."
"It's only the morality of the Bible, Mr. Shelby."
"Well, well, Emily, I don't pretend to interfere with your religious notions; only they seem extremely unfitted for people in that condition."
"They are, indeed," said Mrs. Shelby, "and that is why, from my soul, I hate the whole thing. I tell you, my dear, _I_ cannot absolve myself from the promises I make to these helpless creatures. If I can get the money no other way I will take music-scholars;--I could get enough, I know, and earn the money myself."
"You wouldn't degrade yourself that way, Emily? I never could consent to it."
"Degrade! would it degrade me as much as to break my faith with the helpless? No, indeed!"
"Well, you are always heroic and transcendental," said Mr. Shelby, "but I think you had better think before you undertake such a piece of Quixotism."
Here the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Aunt Chloe, at the end of the verandah.
"If you please, Missis," said she.
"Well, Chloe, what is it?" said her mistress, rising, and going to the end of the balcony.
"If Missis would come and look at dis yer lot o' poetry."
Chloe had a particular fancy for calling poultry poetry,--an application of language in which she always persisted, notwithstanding frequent corrections and advisings from the young members of the family.
"La sakes!" she would say, "I can't see; one jis good as turry,--poetry suthin good, any how;" and so poetry Chloe continued to call it.
Mrs. Shelby smiled as she saw a prostrate lot of chickens and ducks, over which Chloe stood, with a very grave face of consideration.
"I'm a thinkin whether Missis would be a havin a chicken pie o' dese yer."
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|Uncle Tom's Cabin
Harriet Beecher Stowe
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