“Good men have gone out to the mission field, auntie.”
“Mission fiddlesticks! Just a barber's chair, fit for every comer.”
“And then this isn't the mission field exactly either.”
“Mair's the pity, and then you wouldna be running bull-neck on your death before your time.”
“None of us can do that, auntie, for heaven is over all.”
“High words off an empty stomach, my man, so you can just keep them to cool your parridge. But oh, dear—oh, dear! You'll forget your puir auld Jane Callender, anyway.”
“Never, auntie!”
“Tut! don't tell me!”
“Never!”
“It's the last I'm to see of you, laddie. I'm knowing that fine—and me that fond of you too, and looking on you as my ain son.”