"Well, Mary, how are you?" said Boodles.
"I be purty fine, my dear, purty middling fine. Peter be purty fine tu. And how be yew, my dear, and how be the old gentleman? Purty fine yew be, I reckon."
"We are splendid," said Boodles. "How is the old goose, Mary?"
"Du'ye mean Old Sal, my dear? There he be trampesing 'bout Dartmoor as though 'twas his'n. Aw, he be purty fine, sure 'nuff."
"She must be very old," said Boodles.
"Aw ees, he be old. He be a cruel old artful toad, my dear," said Mary.
"How old is she?"
"Well, my dear, he be older than yew. He be twenty-two come next Michaelmas, I'm thinking."
"You will never kill her?" said Boodles. "You couldn't, after having her for so long. You won't kill her, will you, Mary?"
"Goosies was made to kill. Us keeps 'en whiles they be useful, and then us kills 'en," said Mary.