Duffy:—"Take care of an than."
Huey:—"So I will."
Duffy:—"That's a dear."
Another prolonged silence.
Huey continues:—"I'm thinkan we will get married next turfey season if thee west (thou wilt.")
Duffy:—"Why doesn't thee sit a little nearer than?"
Huey:—"Near enough I bla (believe.")
Duffy:—"Nearer the fire, I mean. Well, I'll be married to thee any day, though thee art no beauty, to be sure."
Huey gets a little nearer.
Duffy, putting her hand on his face, "Thy face is as rough as Morvah Downs, that was ploughed and never harved (harrowed) they say; but I'll have thee for all that and fill up with putty all the pock-mark pits and seams; then paint them over and make thee as pretty as a new wheelbarrow."