"Here's ter de health ob Mrs. Wobbles," he answered, lifting the
cider to his lips.
"I'se no 'jections ter dat. Who is she ter be?" replied Suky, very
innocently.
"It's not my 'tention ter go furder and far' wuss. Dis am a case
wha de presen' company am not 'cepted."
"No, not axcepted jes' yet, Mr. Wobbles, if yer'se 'dressin' yer
remarks ter me. Yer is goin' on jes' a little too far."
"P'raps a little far; but yer'll soon catch up wid me. Yer'se a
lady dat got a min' ob her own, I hope?"
"It's mine yet, anyhow."
"An' yer kin keep as mum as a possum w'en de cawn is in de milk?"
"Dat 'pends."
"Ob cose it does. But I'll trus' yer; yer ain' de one ter bite yer
own nose off. Does yer see dat ar ring, Suky? Law! how pretty dat
look on yer degaged finger!"
"'Tain' dar yet."
"Lemme put it dar. Ki! wouldn't dey look an' gape an' pint in dar
yonder w'en yer come a-sailin' in wid dat ring on?"
"Yes; dey tink me a big fool ter be captivated by a ring--brass,
too, like anuff."
"No, Suky, it's gole--yallow gole, di 'plexion ob yer own fair
han'.
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