"Blest if I don't think she can see it in the fire!" he said, under his breath. "I can't see nothin'." And then he exclaimed aloud, "What's the use of botherin'? Thinkin' won't alter it."
"So it seems," she said, sadly; "my head aches with the whirl."
"You oughtn't to be unhappy, Ally; you're very good-looking and very young."
"Yes, I am very young," she sighed. "How old are you, Grif?"
"Blest if I know," Grif replied, with a grin. "I ain't agoin' to bother! I'm old enough, I am!"
"Do you remember your father, Grif?"
"Don't I! He was a rum 'un, he was. Usen't he to wallop us, neither!"
Lost in the recollection, Grif rubbed his back, sympathetically.
"And your mother?" asked the girl.
"Never seed her," he replied, shortly.