"Thar's Abner settin' over thar so everlastin' mealy mouthed that he won't say nothin' mo' to the p'int than that he knew all the time it would happen." "Well, that's enough, ain't it ?" growled Abner; "I did know it would happen sure enough from the outset." "Thar ain't any rousin' him," observed Sarah, with scorn.

"I declar, I believe pa over thar has got mo' sperit in him even if he does live mostly on cornmeal mush." "Plenty of sperit in me--plenty of sperit," chirped grandfather, alert as an aged sparrow that still contrives to hop stiffly in the sunshine.
"Oh, yes, he's sperit left in him, though he's three years older than I am," remarked grandmother, with bitterness.

"_He_ ain't wo' out with work and with child bearin' befo' he was ninety.

_He_ ain't bald, _he_ ain't toothless," she concluded passionately, as if each of grandfather's blessings were an additional insult to her.

"He can still eat hard food when he wants it." "For pity's sake, be quiet, ma," commanded Sarah sternly, at which the old woman broke into sobs.
"Yes, I must be quiet, but _he_ can still talk," she moaned.
"Tell me about it, Archie," said Abel, drawing off his overcoat and sitting down to his supper.