"In a fortnight or three weeks," added my uncle Toby, smiling, "he
might march."
"He will never march, an' please your Honor, in this world," said the
Corporal.
"He will march," said my uncle Toby, rising up from the side of the
bed with one shoe off.
"An' please your Honor," said the Corporal, "he will never march but
to his grave."
"He shall march," cried my uncle Toby, marching the foot which had a
shoe on, tho without advancing an inch--"he shall march to his
regiment."
"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
body?"
"He shall not drop," said my uncle Toby firmly.
"Ah, well--a--day!--do what we can for him," said Trim, maintaining
his point, "the poor soul will die."
"He shall not die, by G--," 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, dropt 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 to Le
Fevre's and his afflicted son's; the hand of death prest 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,
sat 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 he could do to help him; and without giving him time to
answer any one of these inquiries, went on, and told him of the little
plan which he had been concerting with Corporal the night before for
him.
"You shall go home directly, Le Fevre," said my uncle Toby, "to my
house, and we'll send for a doctor to see what's the matter: and we'll
have an apothecary; and the Corporal shall be your nurse; and I'll be
your servant, Le Fevre."
There was a frankness in my uncle Toby, not the effect of familiarity,
but the cause of it, which let you at once into his soul, and showed
you the goodness of his nature. To this, there was something in his
looks, and voice, and manner, super-added, which eternally beckoned to
the unfortunate to come and take shelter under him; so that, before my
uncle Toby had half finished the kind offers he was making to the
father, had the son insensibly prest up close to his knees, and had
taken hold of the breast of his coat, and was pulling it toward him.
The blood and spirits of Le Fevre, which were waxing cold and slow
within him, and were retreating to their last citadel, the heart,
rallied back, the film forsook his eyes for a moment; he looked up
wishfully in my uncle Toby's face; then cast a look upon his boy; and
that ligament, fine as it was, was never broken.
Nature instantly ebbed again; the film returned to its place; the
pulse fluttered, stopt, went on, throbbed, stopt again, moved, stopt.
Shall I go on? No.