"Oh, don't they?"

"No; they would be afraid. If you had a wife, and took up the poker,
she would faint away, and die--perhaps!"

"Oh, dear!"

"I should."

"But, cousin, you would not _want_ the poker taken to you; you
never nag."

"Perhaps that is because we are not married yet."

"What, then, when we are, shall you turn like the others?"

"Impossible to say."

"Well, then" (after a moment's hesitation), "I'll marry you all the
same."

"No! you forget; I shall be afraid until your temper mends."

"I'll mend it. It is mended now. See how good I am now," added he,
with self-admiration and a shade of surprise.

"I don't call this mending it, for I am not the one that offended you;
mending it is promising me never, never to call naughty names again.
How would you like to be called a dog?"