No, honest, cross my heart, you’re the first girl I ever said it to.


A BOY IN SPRINGTIME

For the land’s sake, child, what ails you, anyway. How many times must I call you to come to your supper?


A BOY IN SPRINGTIME

Some day she’ll be sorry she treated me this away. I’ll go ’way and make lots o’ money and come back here riding in a carriage with four white horses, and when she tries to ketch my eye I’ll pertend I never seen her before.