"Sure enough, what is the use on 't?" says John.
"Why, it's no use," she answers; "it's wanity and wexation! that's what it is!"
"Wanity and wexation!" he repeats.
And then she says, if anybody had ever showed a warm heart toward her, she 'd 'a' been a different woman to what she is.
"A different woman!" says John. "How different to what you be?" He could not conceive of the possibility of a difference for the better.
"Why, I would 'a' been ten year younger and ten year smarter," says the widow, "and then may be somebody might 'a' took a notion to me! Who knows? We women never cease to hope, you know!"
"And hev n't they, as 't is?" says John, eagerly bending toward her.
"What a saucy Captain you are, to ask me such questions!"—and she put him gently back with her white hand. "But here we are almost ashore!"—and she began gathering up her band-boxes and paper parcels with great energy.
"I thought you said you was a-goin' to take my advice?" says John, with a soft reproach in his voice.
"Did I? O, then I will!" she answers, with the most innocent air possible, and leaning quite across his knee to replace one of her boxes. "What is your adwice, now? But you must bear in mind the walue of the welwets. I 've one bonnet in the lot, of a wermilion color, that's worth a wast deal; and you know welwet, when it 's once wet, looks just like a drownded cat. No dressing can make anything of it. Some ladies wears it, but my ladies does n't."