"They'll make a dray-horse of her. Here comes the old woman. She pretends she don't believe in it. But she does. She can't help herself."
The old fellow hid his eggs. She looked at him sharply. "He'd rather hear the cackle of a hen than a church organ," she said to Milford.
"Yes, it means more," the old man replied.
"Well, you won't rob my hens much longer. Your days are numbered."
"So are yours, ma'am."
"Now, don't you fret. I'll plant flowers on your grave."
"See that you don't plant hog-weeds."
"What difference will it make to you? Your soul will be gone. But what will you do over there? You'd be out of place makin' silk dresses. If you do make any send me one. I'll want it when I marry again."
"Why do you want to dress up to meet a fool?"
"Shut your rattle-trap. It will be a wise man that marries me. If Bill here was a little older, I'd set my cap for him. Wouldn't I, Bill?"