"
"Oh, I'll tell you the moral sooner than you'll like, perhaps. The ass
is a type, David. In Holy Writ you know almost everything is a type.
When a thing means one thing and stands for another, that's a type."
"Ducks can swim--at least I've heard so. Now if you could tell me what
she is a type of?"
"What, the ass? Don't you know? Why, of women, to be sure--of us poor
creatures of burden, underrated and misunderstood all the world over.
And Balaam he stands for men, and for you at the head of them," cried
she, turning round with flashing eyes on David; "you have known me and
my true affection more than seven years, or seventeen. I carried you
in my arms when you were a year old and I was six. You were my little
curly-headed darling, and have been from that day to this. Did ever I
cross you, or be cold or unkind to you, till the other day?"
"No, Eve, no, no, no! Come sit beside me.
"Then shouldn't you have said, 'Don't slobber _me;_ I won't have
it; you and I are bad friends.' Oughtn't you to have said, 'Eve could
never give herself the pain of crossing me' (no, there isn't a man in
the world with gumption enough to say that--that is a woman's
thought); but at least you might have said, 'She sees rocks ahead that
I can't.' (Balaam couldn't see the drawn sword ahead, but there it
was.) it was for you to say, 'My sister Eve would not change from gay
to grave all at once, and from indulging me in everything to thwarting
me and vexing me, unless she saw some great danger threatening your
peace of mind, your career in life, your very reason, perhaps.
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