That large, round block, with the wooden hammer, is the biscuit-beater; and the cork that is lifting itself from the jug standing on it, belongs to the yeast department.
Mr.Weston did not, nor will we, delay to glance at the well-swept earthen floor, and the bright tins in rows on the dresser, but immediately addressed himself to Aunt Peggy, who, seated in a rush-bottomed chair in the corner, and rocking herself backwards and forwards, was talking rapidly.
And oh! what a figure had Aunt Peggy; or rather, what a face.

Which was the blacker, her eyes or her visage; or whiter, her eyeballs or her hair?
The latter, unconfined by her bandanna handkerchief as she generally wore it, standing off from her head in masses, like snow.

And who that had seen her, could forget that one tooth projecting over her thick underlip, and in constant motion as she talked.
"It's no use, Mister Bacchus," said she, addressing the old man, who looked rather the worse for wear, "it's no use to be flinging yer imperence in my face.

I'se worked my time; I'se cooked many a grand dinner, and eat 'em too.

You'se a lazy wagabond yerself." "Peggy," interposed Mr.Weston.
"A good-for-nothing, lazy wagabond, yerself," continued Peggy, not noticing Mr.Weston, "you'se not worth de hommony you eats." "Does you hear that, master ?" said Bacchus, appealing to Mr.Weston; "she's such an old fool." "Hold your tongue, sir," said Mr.Weston; while Mark, ready to strangle his fellow-servant for his impertinence, was endeavoring to drag him out of the room.
"Ha, ha," said Peggy, "so much for Mr.Bacchus going to barbecues.