"So be I," cried Mary; "So be the cart."
"Be the cart broke?" said Peter; and when Mary had replied it was only fit for firewood (it had not been fit for much else before the accident), he went on, "'Twill cost ye a lot o' money to buy me a new one."
"Buy ye a new one? The man be dafty!" screamed Mary.
"'Twas taking yew home what broke it," Peter explained.
"Call this taking me home?" Mary shouted.
"I done my best," said Peter; "'twas your weight what sent it over. There'll be the cart, and the harness and the doctor's bill; 'twill cost ye a heap o' money."
"Dear life, hear the man talk!" said Mary, appealing to the snow which was piled upon her ample form.
"Mayhap there'll be funeral expenses," said Peter lugubriously; "I be hurt dreadful."
"Yew won't want the cart then," his sister muttered; "and I'll have the pony."
"Where be the pony?" Peter demanded.