Reuben put down his pipe, and fumbled in his waistcoat pocket.

Out of it, with difficulty, he produced a sixpence.
'Art tha partial to goodies, Louie ?' he said, dropping his voice almost to a whisper, and holding up the coin before her.
Louie nodded, her eyes glistening at the magnitude of the coin.
Uncle Reuben might be counted on for a certain number of pennies during the year, but silver was unheard of.
'Tak it then, child, an welcome.

If yo have a sweet tooth--an it's t' way wi moast gells--I conno see as it can be onythin else but Providence as gave it yo.

So get yorsel soom bull's-eyes, Louie, an--an'-- he looked a little conscious as he slipped the coin into her eager hand--'doan't let on ti your aunt! She'd think mebbe I wor spoilin your teeth, or summat,--an, Louie--' Was Uncle Reuben gone mad?
For the first time in her life, as it seemed to Louie, he was looking at what she had on, nay, was even taking up her dress between his finger and thumb.
'Is thissen your Sunday frock, chilt ?' 'Yes,' said the girl, flushing scarlet, 'bean't it a dishclout ?' And she stood looking down at it with passionate scorn.

It was a worn and patched garment of brown alpaca, made out of an ancient gown of Hannah's.
'Wal, I'm naw judge i' these matters,' said Reuben, dubiously, drawing out his spectacles.