"Newton handles her as well as any man going," observed Hilton.
"Newton!" screamed the lady, turning to her son, with an angry inquiring look—"Newton handles Betsy!" continued she, turning round to Hilton.
"Betsy! no; the sloop I meant, ma'am."
Newton burst out into a laugh, in which he was joined by Hilton and his father.
"Sad business—sad indeed!" said Hilton, after the merriment had subsided, "such an awful death!"
"Ha, ha, ha!" roared the curate, who had but just then taken the joke about Betsy.
"He, he, he!"
"Nothing to laugh at, that I can see," observed Mrs Forster, snappishly.
"Capital joke, ma'am, I assure you!" rejoined the curate. "But, Mr Forster, we had better proceed to business. Spinney, where are the papers?" The clerk produced an inventory of the effects of the late Mr Thompson, and laid them on the table.—"Melancholy thing, this, ma'am," continued the curate, "very melancholy indeed! But we must all die."
"Yes, thank Heaven!" muttered Nicholas, in an absent manner.