Excerpt from The Genius of Elizabeth Anne
"Thar mus' be somethin' awful chillin' 'bout that thar firs' yell they give," said Marthy Prouty awesomely, hovering over the chip fire in the kitchen stove. "I hain't never heerd it no more'n twicet in my life, an' both times, though 'twas a fur throw from bein' chilly, I felt like 'twar cold enough t' freeze the har off'n a dog."
"Gimme that sarcer o' lard," responded Mrs. O'Hara, noncommittally, indicating with her head, since both of her hands were occupied, "an' thin whin ye've hunted me up a bit o' cloth fer bundling it in, ye kin go on back t'bed. Ye'r more throuble'n y'er worth, annyhow," she added amiably.
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