ceful sight I had seen--that gaudy,
guilty creeter with a man concealed in her breast. For if it wuzn't a
guilty secret, why wuz the door shet and fastened tight, till the
searchlight of a woman's indignant eyes brought him to light?

Thinkin' it over calmly and bein' reasonable and just, my feelin's
over that female kinder softened down, and I sez to myself, what if
there wuz a open winder or door into all our hearts, for outsiders to
look in, what would they see? Curious sights, homely ones and
beautiful, happy ones and sorrowful, and some kinder betwixt and
between. Sacred spots that the nearest ones never got a glimpse on.
Eyes that look acrost the coffee pot at you every mornin' never
ketched sight on 'em, nor the ones that walk up and down in them
hidden gardens. Some with veiled faces mebby, some with reproachful
orbs, some white and still, some pert and sassy.

Nothin' wicked, most likely; nothin' the law could touch you for; but
most probable it might make trouble if them affectionate eyes opposite
could behold 'em, for where love is there is jealousy, and a lovin'
woman will be jealous of a shadder or a scare-crow. It is nateral
nater and can't be helped. But if she stopped to think on't, she
herself has her hid-away nooks in her heart, dark or pleasant
landscapes, full of them, you never ketch a glimpse on do the best you
can. And jealous curosity goes deep. What would Josiah see through my
heart's open door? What would I see in hisen? It most skairs me to
think on't. No, it hain't best to have open doors into hearts. Lots of
times it would be resky; not wrong, you know, but jest resky.

Thus I sot and eppisoded, lookin' off onto the melancholy ocean,
listenin' to her deep sithes, when onbid come the agonizin' thought,
"Had Josiah Allen backslid so fur and been so full of remorse and
despair, that his small delicate brain had turned over with him, and
he had throwed himself into the arms of the melancholy Ocean? Wuz her
deep, mournful sithes preparin' me for the heart-breakin' sorrow?" I
couldn't abear the thought, and I riz up and walked away. As I did so
a bystander sez, "Have you been up on the Awful Tower?"

"No," sez I, "I've been through awful things, enough, accidental like,
without layin' plans and climbin' up on 'em." But Hope will always
hunch Anxiety out of her high chair in your head and stand up on it. I
thought I would go upstairs into another part of the buildin' and
mebby I might ketch a g