Samantha at Saratoga   By: Marietta Holley (1836-1926)

Dedication:

TO THE GREAT ARMY OF SUMMER TRAMPS THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED BY THEIR COMRADE AND FELLOW WANDERER THE AUTHOR

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I. SAMANTHA AT SARATOGA

CHAPTER II. ARDELIA TUTT AND HER MOTHER

CHAPTER III. THE CHERITY OF THE JONESVILLIANS

CHAPTER IV. ARDELIA AND ABRAM GEE

CHAPTER V. WE ARRIVE AT SARATOGA

CHAPTER VI. SARATOGA BY DAYLIGHT

CHAPTER VII. SEEING THE DIFFERENT SPRINGS

CHAPTER VIII. JOSIAH AND SAMANTHA TAKE A LONG WALK

CHAPTER IX. JOSIAH'S FLIRTATIONS

CHAPTER X. MISS G. WASHINGTON FLAMM

CHAPTER XI. VISIT TO THE INDIAN ENCAMPMENT

CHAPTER XII. A DRIVE TO SARATOGA LAKE

CHAPTER XIII. VISITS TO NOTABLE PLACES

CHAPTER XIV. LAKE GEORGE AND MOUNT McGREGOR

CHAPTER XV. ADVENTURES AT VARIOUS SPRINGS

CHAPTER XVI. AT A LAWN PARTY

CHAPTER XVII. A TRIP TO SCHUYLERVILLE

CHAPTER XVIII. THE SOCIAL SCIENCE MEETING

CHAPTER XIX. ST. CHRISTINA'S HOME

CHAPTER XX. AN ACCIDENT WITH RESULTS

A SORT OF PREFACE.

WHICH IT IS NOT NECESSARY TO READ.

When Josiah read my dedication he said "it wuz a shame to dedicate a book that it had took most a hull bottle of ink to write, to a lot of creeters that he wouldn't have in the back door yard."

But I explained it to him, that I didn't mean tramps with broken hats, variegated pantaloons, ventilated shirt sleeves, and barefooted. But I meant tramps with diamond ear rings, and cuff buttons, and Saratoga trunks, and big accounts at their bankers.

And he said, "Oh, shaw!"

But I went on nobly, onmindful of that shaw, as female pardners have to be, if they accomplish all the talkin' they want to.

And sez I, "It duz seem sort o' pitiful, don't it, to think how sort o' homeless the Americans are a gettin'? How the posys that blow under the winders of Home are left to waste their sweet breaths amongst the weeds, while them that used to love 'em are a climbin' mountain tops after strange nosegays."

The smoke that curled up from the chimbleys, a wreathin' its way up to the heavens all dead and gone. The bright light that shone out of the winder through the dark a tellin' everybody that there wuz a Home, and some one a waitin' for somebody all dark and lonesome.

Yes, the waiter and the waited for are all a rushin' round somewhere, on the cars, mebby, or a yot, a chasin' Pleasure, that like as not settled right down on the eves of the old house they left, and stayed there.

I wonder if they will find her there when they go back again. Mebby they will, and then agin, mebby they won't. For Happiness haint one to set round and lame herself a waitin' for folks to make up their minds.

Sometimes she looks folks full in the face, sort o' solemn like and heart searchin', and gives 'em a fair chance what they will chuse. And then if they chuse wrong, shee'll turn her back to 'em, for always. I've hearn of jest such cases.

But it duz seem sort o' solemn to think how the sweet restful felin's that clings like ivy round the old familier door steps where old 4 fathers feet stopped, and stayed there, and baby feet touched and then went away I declare for't, it almost brings tears, to think how that sweet clingin' vine of affection, and domestic repose, and content how soon that vine gets tore up nowadays.