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"I don't keep moofers to mine tafern," said the landlord, putting his abundant charge into his pocket. "Chay-Te, he always stops here. He coes all ofer te countries, Chay-Te toes. His headt ist pat." "But his heart is good," said the grandmother. "And that will count up more to his credit than if he was an extortioner, and ill-treated the stranger within his gate."
I don't keep moofers mit te tafern." Robert and Corinne felt very homeless as she drove at a rattling pace down the valley. They were hungry, and upon an unknown road; and that inhospitable tavern had turned them away like vagrants. "We'll drive all night before we'll stop in his movers' pen," said Grandma Padgett with her well-known decision.
It swayed back and forth in the valley breeze, as if itself expostulating with him. "Dot's a goot sign," he pronounced. "Auf you go up te hill, tere ist te house I put up mit te moofers. First house. All convenient. You sthay tere. I coom along in te mornin'. Tere ist more as feefty famblies sthop mit tat house. Oh, nien, I don't keep moofers mit te tafern."
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