“Going to be an old maid?”
“If I live long enough!” Her vaunt of youth was dazzling.
“Well, I hope you won’t!” he said fervently.
“Won’t live? Oh, Will!”
“Won’t fade into that. You know what I mean. The sweetest rose must fade.”
“So will this muffler—fortunately. Haven’t you taken your dad’s ‘muckinger’ by mistake?”
“No, no—you leave that be.”
“What a let of Sunday collars!”
“Weekdays too I like a clean collar.”
“Ow, this onrighteous generation,” she said in Caleb’s voice, “all one to them, Sundays or no Sundays.” She pulled up his cloak.