As he lay in bed, face upward, and so covered, with that exception, that he seemed to be nothing but a face--like a conventional cherubim--he looked the queerest object I ever beheld.
'What name was it, as I wrote up in the cart, sir ?' said Mr.Barkis, with a slow rheumatic smile.
'Ah! Mr.Barkis, we had some grave talks about that matter, hadn't we ?' 'I was willin' a long time, sir ?' said Mr.Barkis.
'A long time,' said I.
'And I don't regret it,' said Mr.Barkis.

'Do you remember what you told me once, about her making all the apple parsties and doing all the cooking ?' 'Yes, very well,' I returned.
'It was as true,' said Mr.Barkis, 'as turnips is.

It was as true,' said Mr.Barkis, nodding his nightcap, which was his only means of emphasis, 'as taxes is.

And nothing's truer than them.' Mr.Barkis turned his eyes upon me, as if for my assent to this result of his reflections in bed; and I gave it.
'Nothing's truer than them,' repeated Mr.Barkis; 'a man as poor as I am, finds that out in his mind when he's laid up.

I'm a very poor man, sir!' 'I am sorry to hear it, Mr.Barkis.' 'A very poor man, indeed I am,' said Mr.Barkis.
Here his right hand came slowly and feebly from under the bedclothes, and with a purposeless uncertain grasp took hold of a stick which was loosely tied to the side of the bed.