Ch. Set a village on fire, wicked wretches!
Fa. And while it was burning they murdered—twenty thousand men.
Ch. O fie! papa! You don’t intend I should believe this; I thought all along you were making up a tale, as you often do; but you shall not catch me this time. What! they lay still, I suppose, and let these fellows cut their throats?
Fa. No, truly, they resisted as long as they could.
Ch. How should these men kill twenty thousand people, pray?
Fa. Why not? the murderers were thirty thousand.
Ch. O, now I have found you out! you mean a BATTLE.
Fa. Indeed I do. I do not know any murders half so bloody.
EVENING IX.