Cynthy Ann’s Sacrifice
Cynthy Ann explained it all to Jonas in a severe and irrevocable way. Jonas looked at her a moment, stunned.
“Did Brother Goshorn venture to send me any of his wisdom, in the way of advice, layin’ round loose, like counterfeit small change, cheap as dirt?”
“Well, yes,” said Cynthy Ann, hesitating.
“I’ll bet the heft of my fortin’, to be paid on receipt of the amount, that I kin tell to a T what the good Christian wanted me to do.”
“Don’t be oncharitable, Jonas. Brother Goshorn is a mighty sincere man.”
“So he is, but his bein’ sincere don’t do me no good. He wanted you to advise me to jine the Methodist class as a way of gittin’ out of the difficulty. And you was too good a Christian to ask me to change fer any sech reason, knowin’ I wouldn’t be fit for you ef I did.”
Cynthy Ann was silent. She would have liked to have Jonas join the church with her, but if he had done it now she herself would have doubted his sincerity.
“Now, looky here, Cynthy, ef you’ll say you don’t love me, and never can, I’ll leave you to wunst, and fly away and mourn like a turtle-dove. But so long as it’s nobody but Goshorn, I’m goin’ to stay and litigate the question till the Millerite millennium comes. I appeal to Cæesar or somebody else. Neither Brother Goshorn nor Brother Hall knows enough to settle this question. I’m agoin’ to the persidin’ elder. And you can’t try a man and hang him and then send him to the penitentiary fer the rest of his born days without givin’ him one chance to speak fer hisself agin the world and everybody else. I’m goin’ to see the persidin’ elder myself and plead my own cause, and ef he goes agin me, I’ll carry it up to the bishop or the archbishop or the nex’ highest man in the heap, till I git plum to the top, and ef they all go agin me, I’ll begin over agin at the bottom with Brother Goshorn, and keep on till I find a man that’s got common-sense enough to salt his religion with.”