[44]
I hope not, said Trim.—You hope not! cried Susannah earnestly.—The mourning ran not in Trim's head, whatever it did in Susannah's.—I hope—said Trim, explaining himself, I hope in God the news is not true. I heard the letter read with my own ears, answered Obadiah; and we shall have a terrible piece of work of it in stubbing the ox-moor.—Oh! he's dead, said Susannah.—As sure, said the scullion, as I am alive.
I lament for him from my heart and my soul, said Trim, fetching a sigh.—Poor creature!—poor boy! poor gentleman!
- He was alive last Whitsontide, said the coachman.—Whitsontide! alas! cried Trim, extending his right arm, and falling instantly into the same attitude in which he read the sermon,—what is Whitsontide, Jonathan, (for that was the coachman's name) or Shrovetide, or anytide
