Trypheny, we were engaged some time before mother Kenipe knew anything
about it, and when she found it out she was quite put out because I
dident go to her first. So when I made up my mind about Melissy, thinks
me, I'll dew it right this time and speak to the old woman first----"

WIDOW. "_Old woman_, hey! That's a purty name to call
me!--amazin' perlite, tew! Want Melissy, hey! Tribbleation! Gracious
sakes alive! Well, I'll give it up now! I always know'd you was a
simpleton, Tim Crane, but I _must_ confess I dident think you was
_quite_ so big a fool! Want Melissy, dew ye? If that don't beat all!
What an everlastin' old calf you must be to s'pose she'd _look_ at
_you_. Why, you're old enough to be her father, and more tew--Melissy
ain't only in her twenty-oneth year. What a reedickilous idee for a man
o' your age! as gray as a rat, tew! I wonder what this world _is_
a-comin' tew: 'tis astonishin' what fools old widdiwers will make o'
themselves! Have Melissy! Melissy!"

MR. C. "Why, widder, you surprise me. I'd no idee of being
treated in this way after you'd been so polite to me, and made such a
fuss over me and the girls."

WIDOW. "Shet yer head, Tim Crane--nun o' yer sass to me.
_There's_ yer hat on that are table, and _here's_ the door--and the
sooner you put on _one_ and march out o' t'other, the better it'll be
for you. And I advise you afore you try to git married agin, to go out
West and see 'f yet wife's cold--and arter ye're satisfied on that pint,
jest put a little lampblack on yer hair--'twould add to yer appearance
undoubtedly, and be of sarvice tew you when you want to flourish round
among the gals--and when ye've got yer hair fixt, jest splinter the
spine o' yerback--'twould'n' hurt yer looks a mite--you'd be intirely
unresistible if you was a _leetle_ grain straiter."

MR. C. "Well, I never!"

WIDOW. "Hold yer tongue--you consarned old coot you. I tell ye
_there's_ your hat, and _there's_ the door--be off with yerself, quick
metre, or I'll give ye a hyst with the broomstick."

MR. C. "Gimmeni!"

WIDOW (_rising_). "Git out, I say--I ain't a-gwine to start'
here and be insulted under my own ruff--and so git along--and if ever
you darken my door again, or say a word to Melissy, it'll be the woss
for you--that's all."

MR. C. "Treemenjous! What a buster!"

WIDOW. "Go 'long--go 'long--go 'long, you everlastin' old gum.
I won't hear another word" [stops her ears]. "I won't, I won't, I
won't."