You recollect painting my prize-bull for me, don't you, Phebe ?" "To be sure I do," she answered.
"Ay! and mother shook like a leaf when I told her you'd gone into his shed, and him not tied up.

'Never you mind, mother,' I says, 'there's neither man nor beast'ud hurt little Phebe.' You'd enjoy painting my prize-pigs, I know; and there'd be plenty o' time.

Wouldn't you now ?" "Very much," she said, "if I have time." "That's something to look forward to," he continued.

"I'm always thinking what you'd like to paint, and make a picture of.

I should like to be painted myself, and mother; and there'll be plenty o' time.