" "He
can not stand it," said the corporal. "He shall be supported," said my
uncle Toby. "He'll drop at last," said the corporal, "and what will
become of his boy?" "He shall not drop," said my uncle Toby, firmly.
"Ah, welladay, do what we can for him," said Trim, maintaining his
point, "the poor soul will die." "He shall not die, by G--d," cried my
uncle Toby.
The _accusing spirit_ which flew up to heaven's chancery with the oath,
blushed as he gave it in, and the _recording angel_, as he wrote it
down, dropped a tear upon the word and blotted it out forever.
My uncle Toby went to his bureau, put his purse into his breeches
pocket, and, having ordered the corporal to go early in the morning for
a physician, he went to bed and fell asleep.
The sun looked bright the morning after to every eye in the village but
LeFevre's and his afflicted son's; the hand of death pressed heavy upon
his eyelids, and hardly could the wheel at the cistern turn round its
circle when my uncle Toby, who had rose up an hour before his wonted
time, entered the lieutenant's room, and, without preface or apology,
set himself down upon the chair by the bedside, and independently of all
modes and customs, opened the curtain in the manner an old friend and
brother officer would have done it, and asked him how he did; how he had
rested in the night; what was his complaint; where was his pain, and
what could he do to help him? and without giving him time to answer any
one of the inquiries, went on and told him of the little plan which he
had been concerting with the corporal, the night before, for him.
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