Young Tom was respectfully studying the aspects of the radiant beauties of the polite work.

He also was a thrall of woman, newly enrolled, and full of wonder.
"What, Tom!" the farmer sang out as soon as he had opened the door; "there ye be! at yer Folly agin, are ye?
What good'll them fashens do to you, I'd like t'know?
Come, shut up, and go and see to Mr.Fev'rel's mare.

He's al'ays at that ther' Folly now.

I say there never were a better name for a book than that ther' Folly! Talk about attitudes!" The farmer laughed his fat sides into a chair, and motioned his visitor to do likewise.
"It's a comfort they're most on 'em females," he pursued, sounding a thwack on his knee as he settled himself agreeably in his seat.

"It don't matter much what they does, except pinchin' in--waspin' it at the waist.