“‘You better thee me in daylight,’ says she.
“‘Don’t you mind about that,’ says he. ‘Mother always ’lowed that sort o’ thing didn’t matter: an’ she knowed.’
“She put a finger under his chin an’ tipped his face t’ the light.
“‘You ithn’t got all your thentheth, ith you?’ says she.
“‘Well,’ says he, ‘bein’ born on Hollow-eve,’ says he, ‘I isn’t quite got all my wits. But,’ says he, ‘I wisht I had. An’ I can’t do no more.’
“‘An’ you wanth t’ wed me?’ says she. ‘Ith you sure you doth?’
“‘I got mother’s ring,’ says the cook, ‘t’ prove it.’
“‘Tumm,’ says Liz t’ me, ‘you ithn’t wantin’ t’ get married, ith you?’
“‘No, Liz,’ says I. ‘Not,’ says I, ‘t’ you.’