"Wash the red from her cheek and the light from her look, and she'll still have the queen's own tread," said Jim.
"If Loisy Currier'd heern that, you'd wish your cake was dough," says father.
"I'll resk it," says Jim. "Loisy knows who's second choice, as well as if you told her."
"But what about the Georges, Jim?" I asked; for though I hated to hear,
I could listen to nothing else.
"Georges? Oh, not much. Just like any other place."
"But what do you do down there?"
"Do? Why, we fish,—in the pleasant weather."
"And when it's not pleasant?"
"Oh, then we make things taut, hoist fores'l, clap the hellum into the lee becket, and go below and amuse ourselves."
"How?" I asked, as if I hadn't heard it all a hundred times.