She matched my long words with a great one caught from my tutor. “God isn’t inclined,” says she, with a toss, “in favor o’ kisses.”
And there you had it!
When we sat late, our maid-servant would indignantly whisk Judith off to bed––crying out upon us for our wickedness.
“Cather,” my uncle would drawl, Judith being gone, “ye’re all wore out along o’ too much study.”
“Not at all, Skipper Nicholas!” cries my tutor.
“Study,” says my uncle, in solemn commiseration, “is a bitter thing t’ be cotched by. Ye’re all wore out, parson, along o’ the day’s work.”
My tutor laughed.
“Too much study for the brain,” says my uncle, sympathetically, his eye on the bottle. “I ’low, parson, if I was you I’d turn in.”