The parson's nimble enough, but he hasn't got much of a leg: it's a bit too thick down'ard, and his knees might be a bit nearer wi'out damage; but he might do worse, he might do worse.
Though he hasn't that grand way o' waving his hand as the Squire has." "Talk o' nimbleness, look at Mrs.Osgood," said Ben Winthrop, who was holding his son Aaron between his knees.

"She trips along with her little steps, so as nobody can see how she goes--it's like as if she had little wheels to her feet.

She doesn't look a day older nor last year: she's the finest-made woman as is, let the next be where she will." "I don't heed how the women are made," said Mr.Macey, with some contempt.

"They wear nayther coat nor breeches: you can't make much out o' their shapes." "Fayder," said Aaron, whose feet were busy beating out the tune, "how does that big cock's-feather stick in Mrs.Crackenthorp's yead?
Is there a little hole for it, like in my shuttle-cock ?" "Hush, lad, hush; that's the way the ladies dress theirselves, that is," said the father, adding, however, in an undertone to Mr.Macey, "It does make her look funny, though--partly like a short-necked bottle wi' a long quill in it.

Hey, by jingo, there's the young Squire leading off now, wi' Miss Nancy for partners! There's a lass for you!--like a pink-and-white posy--there's nobody 'ud think as anybody could be so pritty.