I don't want his peace of mind disturbed through any means of ours," said she.
The Squire got up, shook the ashes out of his pipe, and laid it with tender care on the shelf.

Then he put his great hands one upon each of his wife's little shoulders, and looked down at her.

Abigail Merritt had a habit of mind which corresponded to that of her body.
She could twist and turn, with the fine adroitness of a fox, round sudden, sharp corners of difficulty, when her husband might go far on the wrong road through drowsy inertia of motion; but, after all, he had sometimes a clearer view than she of ultimate ends, past the petty wayside advantages of these skilful doublings and turnings.
She could deal with details with little taper-finger touches of nicety, but she could not judge as well as he of generalities and the final scope of combinations.

It was doubtful if Abigail ever fairly appreciated her own punch.
"Abigail," said the Squire, looking down at her, his great bearded face all slyly quirked with humor--"Abigail, look here.

There are a good many things that you and I can do, and a few that we can't do.