“I think it vill, mum,” replied Sam.
“I wish I could hope that it would do your father good,” said Mrs. Weller.
“Thankee, my dear,” said Mr. Weller senior. “How do you find yourself arter it, my love?”
“Scoffer!” exclaimed Mrs. Weller.
“Benighted man!” said the Reverend Mr. Stiggins.
“If I don’t get no better light than that ’ere moonshine o’ yourn, my worthy creetur,” said the elder Mr. Weller, “it’s wery likely as I shall continey to be a night coach till I’m took off the road altogether. Now, Mrs. We, if the piebald stands at livery much longer, he’ll stand at nothing as we go back, and p’r’aps that ’ere harm-cheer ’ull be tipped over into some hedge or another, with the shepherd in it.”
At this supposition, the Reverend Mr. Stiggins, in evident consternation, gathered up his hat and umbrella, and proposed an immediate departure, to which Mrs. Weller assented. Sam walked with them to the lodge-gate, and took a dutiful leave.
“A-do, Samivel,” said the old gentleman.
“Wot’s a-do?” inquired Sammy.
“Well, good-bye, then,” said the old gentleman.