For two pins I'd hit you over the head." "What!" cried Mark, in an access of passion; "why, you ugly big-headed mole, how dare you speak to me like that ?" "'Cause I like," cried Dummy sharply.

"Talking of going to deep, like a great gal.

Yah! Gen'lemen aren't no use.

Never do have no legs." "You insolent dog!" roared Mark, leaping at him, and striking the boy twice heavily on the back, with the result that the one candle was jerked out of the stick he carried, to fly forward on to the floor, flicker for a moment or two, and then, before it could be seized, go out, and with it Mark's bit of passion.
"Oh!" he cried, as he stood fast in the darkness.
"There, you've done it now," cried Dummy, in mock tones of horror.
"Yes, be quick; get out the flint and steel." "What for ?" "To get a light." "For you to begin knocking me about again." "No, no, Dummy; I won't touch you again.

It was your fault: you made me so cross." "All right, Master Mark," said the boy, with a good-humoured laugh.