I don't know what you're talkin' about, an' I guess you don't--you are all wore out, poor child; but I guess there didn't nobody have any knife, and I guess he'll git out of prison pretty soon.

You just take off your things, and I'll get some pillows out of the bedroom, and you lay down on the settle by the fire while I get some supper.

The kettle's on now.

And then I'll heat the warming-pan and get the spare-room bed as warm as toast, and mix you up a tumbler of hot brandy cordial, and then you drink it all down and get right into bed, and I'll tuck you up, and I guess you'll feel better in the morning, and things will look different." "Let me go," Madelon said to Jim Otis.
"She mustn't go, mother," he said, never looking at Madelon at all, although he still held fast to her straining arm.
"Well," said Mrs.Otis, "You ain't no daughter of mine, and if you set out to go I suppose I ain't any right to hinder you.

But there's one thing maybe you ain't thought of--I can't let my son take you 'way over to Ware Centre a night like this, nohow.