Ye'd ha' bin too perfect, an' that's not desirable by no means,--'_my darlin' Jo_,'-- ay, _them's_ the words.

It's that as sets my 'art a b'ilin' over like." Here Jo raised his eyes from the letter, and revelled silently in the thought for at least two minutes, during which his pipe did double duty in half its usual time.

Then he recurred to his theme; but some parts he read in silence, and without audible comment.
"Aye," said he, "'_sandle-wood skooners, the Haf ov thems pirits_'-- so they is, Susan.

It's yer powers o' prophesy as amazes me; '_an' The other hafs no beter_;' a deal wus, Susan, if ye only know'd it.

Ah! my sweet gal, if ye knew wot a grief that word '_beter_' was to me before I diskivered wot it wos, ye'd try to improve yer hand o' write, an' make fewer blots!" At this point Jo was arrested by the sound of footsteps behind him.