“Faix, then, I dunna—barrin' that you're in the black books wid him, and that you'd have a better chance of gettin' in undher a stranger that didn't know you.”
“Nanny,” he replied, laughing, “you are certainly a very smart girl, and indeed a very pretty girl—a very interesting young woman, indeed, Nanny; but you won't listen to reason.”
“To raison, sir, I'll always listen; but not to wickedness or evil.”
“Will you have a glass of punch? I hope there is neither wickedness nor evil in that.”
“I'm afraid, sir, that girls like me have often found to their cost too much of both in it. Thank you, Masther Hycy, but I won't have it; you know I won't.”
“So you will stand in your own light, Nanny?”
“I hope not, sir; and, wanst for all, Mr. Hycy, there's no use in spakin' to me as you do. I'm a poor humble girl, an' has nothing but my character to look to.”
“And is that all you're afraid of, Nanny?”
“I'm afear'd of Almighty God, sir: an' if you had a little fear of Him, too, Mr. Hycy, you wouldn't spake to me as you do.”
“Why, Nanny, you're almost a saint on our hands.”