declaration:

"She can brew n' she can bake,
She can sew n' she can make--
She's a young thing, and cannot leave her mother."

"She ain't s' young!" bawled the sheepherder, who was taking it all
very seriously. "Say them numbers over again, onc't. Twelve-'n'-fourteen--"

"Aw, go off and lay down!" advised Charming Billy, in a tone of deep
disgust. He was about to pursue still farther his inquiry into the
housewifely qualifications of the mysterious "young thing," and he
hated interruptions.

"Can she make a punkin pie, Billy boy, Billy boy?
Can she make a punkin pie, charming Billy?"

The door opened timidly and closed again, but he did not see who
entered. He was not looking; he was holding the empty, foam-flecked
glass behind him imperatively, and he was watching over his shoulder
to see that the bartender did not skimp the filling and make it
two-thirds foam. The bartender was punctiliously lavish, so that a
crest of foam threatened to deluge the hand of Charming Billy and
quite occupied him for the moment. When he squared himself again and
buzzed his spurs against the bar, his mind was wholly given to the
proper execution of the musical gem.

"She can make a punkin pie,
Quick's a cat can wink her eye--"