“Aye,” piped a squeaky voice by the horses heads (’twas the shuffling stable boy), “aye, but look sharp! Lord, what sounds I’ve heerd! The devil’s i’ the hearse, for sure!”
“Now, Simmy,” the one-ey’d gaffer expostulated, “thou dostn’ think the smoky King is a-took in, same as they poor folks upstairs? Tee-hee! Lord, what a trick!—to come for Master Tingcomb, an’ find—aw dear!—aw, bless my old ribs, what a thing is humor!”
“Shut up!” grunted the minister. The end of the coffin was tilted up into the hearse. “Push, old varmint!”
“Aye-push, push! Where be my young, active sinews? What a shrivell’d garment is all my comeliness! ‘The devil inside,’ says Simmy—haw, haw!”
“Burn the thing! ’twon’t go in for the tool box. Push, thou cackling old worms!”
“Now so I be, but my natural strength is abated. ‘Yo-heave ho!’ like the salted seafardingers upstairs. Push, push!”
“Oh, my inwards!” groans poor Matt, under his breath, into whom the chest was squeezing sorely.
“Right at last!” says the minister. “Now, Simmy, nay lad, hand the reins an’ jump up. There’s room, an’ you’ll be wanted.”
The door was clapp’d-to, the three rogues climb’d upon the seat in front: and we started.
I hope I may never be call’d to pass such another half hour as that which follow’d. As soon as the wheels left turf for the hard road, ’twas jolt, jolt all the way; and this lying mainly down hill, the chest and coffin came grinding into our ribs, and pressing till we could scarce breathe. And I dared not climb out over them, for fear the fellows should hear us; their chuckling voices coming quite plain to us from the other side of the panel. I held out, and comforted Matt, as well as I could, feeling sure we should find Master Tingcomb at our journey’s end. Soon we climb’d a hill, which eas’d us a little; but shortly after were bumping down again, and suffering worse than ever.