Black Tom tsht and spat. “Why, you were shouting out of mercy at the lad, and knocking him about like putty. He wouldn't get lave to live with you, and that's why he went away.”
“You're bad to forget, Thomas—I've always noticed it,” said Cæsar.
“You'll be putting the bell about, and praiching his funeral, eh, Cæsar?” said somebody.
“'Deed, yes, man, Sabbath first,” said Cæsar.
“That's impossible, father,” said Grannie. “How's the girl to have her black ready?”
“Sunday week, then, or Sunday fortnight, or the Sunday after the Melliah (harvest-home),” said Cæsar; “the crops are waiting for saving, but a dead man is past it. Oh, I'll be faithful, I'll give it them straight, it's a time for spaking like a dying man to dying men; I'll take a tex' that'll be a lesson and a warning, 'Ho, every one that thirsteth——”
Black Tom tsht and spat again. “I wouldn't, Cæsar; they'll think you're going to trate them,” he muttered.
Philip was asked for particulars, and he brought out a letter. Jonaique Jelly, John the Clerk, and Johnny the Constable had come in by this time. “Read it, Jonaique,” said Cæsar.
“A clane pipe first,” said Black Tom. “Aren't you smook-ing on it, Cæsar? And isn't there a croppa of rum anywhere? No! Not so much as a plate of crackers and a drop of tay going? Is it to be a totaller's funeral then?”
“This is no time for feasting to the refreshment of our carnal bodies,” said Cæsar severely. “It's a time for praise and prayer.”