"I wish I had your wooden head for a chopping-bowl," says she.
"Gaul darn it! you're never suited," says he.
"Needn't get your Dutch up: we're going together. You may depend on takin' on us to that funeral: him and her is going," says she.
"Walking is too good for you, by thunder!" says he.
"It's a sin to be as mad as hops at nothing," says she.
"I'm as much of a angel as you be: put a pair of wings on you, you'd be a hen turkey," says he.
"I ain't a goose: I've got a head on me, Bill Blowers."
"So has a pin."
"If I'm a pin, you let me be: children and fools shouldn't play with edge tools. I'm a pin that'll go to that funeral, then. It'll be a good funeral—singing and everything right up to the handle."
"Plague take it! I knowed how it would be when I started on the arrant," he grumbles.