“Save us,” moan’d Matt, “where will this end?”
The words were scarce out, when we turn’d sharp to the right, with a jolt that shook our teeth together, roll’d for a little while over smooth grass, and drew up.
I heard the fellows climbing down, and got my pistols out.
“Simmy,” growl’d the minister, “where’s the lantern?”
There was a minute or so of silence, and then the snapping of flint and steel, and the sound of puffing.
“Lit, Simmy?”
“Aye, here ’tis.”
“Fetch it along then.”
The handle of the door was turn’d, and a light flash’d into the hearse.
“Here, hold the lantern steady! Come hither, old Squeaks, and help wi’ the end.”