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"It's a carstle like wot the King's got at Windsor." "Is it a king as lives 'ere, then?" Dickie asked. "No! Nobody don't live 'ere, mate," said Mr. Beale. "It's a ruin, this is. Only howls and rats lives in ruins." "Did any one ever live in it?" "I shouldn't wonder," said Mr. Beale indifferently. "Yes, course they must 'ave, come to think of it. But you learned all that at school.
It seems jes' a spell sence she were so teency she had to clim' on a soap box to reach up ter de dough tray ter pinch off a lil piece er yeas' dough ter make her play rolls wif, so she an' that there Kent could have a party in de ole apple tree they called ther carstle.
An' now de carstle done blowed down an' in a twinklin' of de eye, most fo' dis ole nigger could tun 'round, here is a sho nuf house whar de carstle stood an' my lil baby chile is mistress here wif a dough tray an' bis'it board er her own, an' now," and here Aunt Mary paused to give one of her inimitable chuckles, "she don' have ter stretch up none ter reach de table but has to ben' over right smart in de tother d'rection."
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