You are a careless slut.' 'Please, I can't think of everybody and everything, and poor master----' Sally plumped on a seat, and took sanctuary under her apron.

Mrs.Mel glanced at the pair, continuing her labour.
'Oh, aunt, aunt!' cried Mrs.Fiske, 'why didn't you put it off for another day, to give Evan a chance ?' 'Master 'd have kept another two days, he would!' whimpered Sally.
'Oh, aunt! to think!' cried Mrs.Fiske.
'And his coffin not bearin' of his spurs!' whimpered Sally.
Mrs.Mel interrupted them by commanding Sally to go to the drawing-room, and ask a lady there, of the name of Mrs.Wishaw, whether she would like to have some lunch sent up to her.

Mrs.Fiske was requested to put towels in Evan's bedroom.
'Yes, aunt, if you're not infatuated!' said Mrs.Fiske, as she prepared to obey; while Sally, seeing that her public exhibition of sorrow and sympathy could be indulged but an instant longer, unwound herself for a violent paroxysm, blurting between stops: 'If he'd ony've gone to his last bed comfortable!...

If he'd ony 've been that decent as not for to go to his last bed with his clothes on! ...

If he'd ony've had a comfortable sheet!...