"Barbee, I'm going to sing you a love song—an old, old, old love song. Did you ever hear one?"
"I have been hearing mine for some time."
"This goes back to grandmother's time. But it's the man's song: you ought to be singing it to me."
"I shall continue to sing my own."
Marguerite began to sing close to Barbee's ear:
"I'll give to you a paper of pins,
If that's the way that love begins,
If you will marry me, me, me,
If you will marry me."
"Pins!" said Barbee; "why, that old-time minstrel must have been singing when pins were just invented. You can have—"
Marguerite quieted him with a finger on his elbow:
"I'll give to you a dress of red,
Bound all around with golden thread,
If you will marry me, me, me,
If you will marry me."
"How about a dress not simply bound with golden thread but made of it, made of nothing else! and then hung all over with golden ornaments and the heaviest golden utensils?"