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All the old women had peaked ats, and crooked cains, and chince gowns tucked into the pockits of their quiltid petticoats; they sat in pictarask porches, pretendin to spinn, while the lads and lassis of the villidges danst under the hellums. O, tis a noble sight to whitniss that of an appy pheasantry!
Then he'd say to his steward, who had the hardest job of all, "Bill" Bill wasn't his name, but it'll do "Bill, where did I see that six-foot vase, made out of a single ruby?" An' Bill would turn pale an' say, "It was in the secret vault of the Em'prer of Chince, your Excellency." Then Monte Cristo, he'd say, "Ah, yes, so it was.
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