We have not much to offer Madame, but such as it is, it is quite hers.
With what riches could she produce a hen to lay eggs more perfect than those which madame beholds this morning?
They are the eggs of Mildred, our most special hen.

And this cream, it is from our cow Suzanne, whose like one does not find in any land for docility and amiability of disposition.

Our roof is small, but it is ours.

We have a yard so large as forty feet to the street yonder.

What more does one demand for flowers or for the onion with green top in the spring?
The couch of madame, was it not soft?
Yes?
It is from fowls of this very valley.