"She makes it a condition." "You're not leaving me, Mr.Jope!" "Worse'n that.

I'm a-goin to marry the widow Babbage." "Oh, ma'am!" I appealed.
"It'll do him good," said Mrs.Pengelly.
"I honestly think, Sarah," poor Ben protested, "that just now you're setting too much store by wedlock altogether." "It's my conditions with you; and you may take it or leave it, Ben." His sister was adamant, and he turned ruefully to go.
"And you're doing this for me, Mr.Jope!" I caught his hand.
"Don't 'ee mention it.

Blast the child!" He crammed his tarpaulin hat on his head.

"I don't mean you, my lad, but t'other one.
If he makes up a rhyme 'pon me, I'll--I'll--" Speech failed him.

He wrung my hand, staggered up the companion, and was gone.
"It'll be the making of him," said Mrs.Pengelly with composure.
"I don't like the woman myself, but a better manager you wouldn't meet." She remembered presently that Ben had departed without his promised dish of tea, and this seemed to suggest to her that the time had arrived for preparing a meal.