Of regret for their personal loss and his own he had none.
"Oh--ho! Mighty fine, aren't we, feasting on the best," he began.

"Let me tell you all this is mine now, spite of all your dirty tricks, and you can get out, all of you, and the sooner the better.

Eating my best butter, too! Ma fe, fat is good enough for the likes of you," and he stretched a long arm and lifted the dish of golden butter from the board--butter, too, which Nance and her mother had made themselves after also milking the cows.
"Put that down!" said Gard, in a voice like the taps of a hammer.
"You get out--bravache! Bretteur! I'm master here." "In six weeks--if you live that long.

Until things are properly divided you'll keep out of this, if you're well advised." "I will, will I?
We'll see about that, Mister Bully.

I know what you're up to, trying to fool our Nance with your foreign ways, and I won't have it.