Chris'mas mornin's."

"Trew, trew as proverbs."

"Howsever, 'twas cruel bad, that last psa'm, I won't gainsay. As for
that long-legged boy o' mine, I keep silence, yea, even from hard words,
considerin' what's to come. But 'tis given to flutes to make a
noticeable sound, whether tunable or false."

"Terrible shy he looks, poor chap!"

The three men turned and contemplated Young Zeb Minards, who sat on
their left and fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing his legs.

"How be feelin', my son?"

"Very whitely, father; very whitely, an' yet very redly."

Elias Sweetland, moved by sympathy, handed across a peppermint drop.

"Hee-hee!" now broke in an octogenarian treble, that seemed to come from
high up in the head of Uncle Issy, the bass-viol player; "But cast your
eyes, good friends, 'pon a little slip o' heart's delight down in the
nave, and mark the flowers 'pon the bonnet nid-nodding like bees in a
bell, with unspeakable thoughts."

"'Tis the world's way wi' females."

"I'll wager, though, she wouldn't miss the importance of it--yea, not
for much fine gold."