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"As if 'twasn' enough to change the best kitchen in all Polpier for quarters where you can't swing a cat, but on top of it I must be afflicted with a child that's taken wi' the indoors habit; and in the middle of August month, too, when every one as means to grow up a comfort to all concerned is out stretchin' his legs an' makin' himself scarce an' gettin' a breath o' nice fresh air into his little lungs."
Well, after dinner she left me alone with pipes an' tobacco; an' 'twas then, I suppose, that in my forgetful way I must have slipped the box into my pocket." "'Twasn' very nice treatment, was it? after the length she'd gone to put herself out." "But 'twas absence o' mind, you understand."
Well, 'twasn' exactly one or t'other with me, but a little like both. I'm a level-headed tradesman, and known for such, but if ever that chap walks into my house again, I'll be wise, and go straight out by the back door and put myself under restraint."
"We was talkin' business," said the ship-chandler pointedly. "Then you might ha' waited for a better occasion," Mr Toy retorted. "Twasn' mannerly of ye, to say the least." "Better be unmannerly than troublesome, I've heard." "Better be both than unfeelin'. What! Leave Cap'n Cai, here, pass my door, an' never a home-comin' word?"
'E's a nice woon t' taalk o' marryin', whan 'is awn wife caan't live wi' 'im, nor 'is awn daughter, neither. And 'oo alse talled yo'? 'Twasn' Moother?" "Naw. It wasn' yore moother." "An' 'twasn' mae, Jim, and navver will bae." "'Twas Dr. Rawcliffe." "'E? 'E's anoother. 'Ooo's 'e married? Miss Gwanda? Nat' e!" "Yo' let t' doctor bae, Essy. 'E's right enoof.
"No, ma'am. He's called Porter Sam Porter, an' he works on the coal-barges. But I wouldn' advise you, I reely wouldn', because father's got opinions, an' can't abide visitors. I've 'eard 'im threaten 'em quite vi'lent." "Poor child!" "But I won't 'ave you say anything 'gainst father," said Tilda, taking her up quickly, "for 'e's the best father in the world, if 'twasn' fur the drink."
Mother screeched, and Sal bolted off for Dad, while the snake glided silently up the yard. Anderson, passing on his old bay mare, heard the noise, and came in. He examined Joe's finger, bled the wound, and was bandaging the arm when Dad rushed in. "Where is he?" he said. "Oh, you d d whelp! You wretch of a boy! MY God!" "'Twasn' MY fault." And Joe began to blubber. But Anderson protested.
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