“Why laws a massy, Massa! I can’t swear to de identical words; how can I? but as I was a sayin’, dere was ‘finement in ’em, werry long, werry crooked, and werry pretty, but dat was all de sense ob ’em.
“‘Now, Sorrow,’ said she, ‘he ought to ab used milk; all fish soups ought to be made o’ milk, and den tickened wid flour.’
“‘Why in course, Missus,’ sais I, ‘dat is de way you and me always likes it.’
“‘It has made me quite ill,’ said she.
“‘So it ab nearly killed me, Missus,’ sais I, puttin’ my hand on my stomach, ‘I ab such a pain down here, I tink sometimes I shall die.’
“‘Well, you look ill, Uncle Sorrow,’ she said, and she went to her dressin’-case, and took a little small bottle (covered ober wid printed words), ‘Take some o’ dis,’ said she, and she poured me out bout dis much (filling his glass again), ‘take dat, it will do you good.’
“‘Is it berry bad to swaller,’ sais I, ‘Missus? I is most afeard it will spile the ‘finement of my taste.’
“‘Try it,’ sais she, and I shut to my eyes, and made awful long face, and swallowed it jist dis way.
“‘By golly,’ sais I, ‘Missus, but dat is grand. What is dat?’
“‘Clove, water,’ said she.