He broke silence as follows. CHAPTER III Did ever man, brother _Toby_, cried my father, raising himself upon his elbow, and turning himself round to the opposite side of the bed, where my uncle _Toby_ was sitting in his old fringed chair, with his chin resting upon his crutch----did ever a poor unfortunate man, brother _Toby_, cried my father, receive so many lashes? ----The most I ever saw given, quoth my uncle _Toby_ (ringing the bell at the bed’s head for _Trim_) was to a grenadier, I think in _Mackay’s_ regiment. ------Had my uncle _Toby_ shot a bullet through my father’s heart, he could not have fallen down with his nose upon the quilt more suddenly. Bless me! said my uncle _Toby_. CHAPTER IV Was it _Mackay’s_ regiment, quoth my uncle _Toby_, where the poor grenadier was so unmercifully whipp’d at _Bruges_ about the ducats? --O Christ! he was innocent! cried _Trim_, with a deep sigh. --And he was whipp’d, may it please your honour, almost to death’s door. --They had better have shot him outright, as he begg’d, and he had gone directly to heaven, for he was as innocent as your honour. ------I thank thee, _Trim_, quoth my uncle _Toby_. ----I never think of his, continued _Trim_, and my poor brother _Tom’s_ misfortunes, for we were all three school-fellows, but I cry like a coward. ----Tears are no proof of cowardice, _Trim_. --I drop them oft-times myself, cried my uncle _Toby_. ----I know your honour does, replied _Trim_, and so am not ashamed of it myself. --But to think, may it please your honour, continued _Trim_, a tear stealing into the corner of his eye as he spoke--to think of two virtuous lads with hearts as warm in their bodies, and as honest as God could make them--the children of honest people, going forth with gallant spirits to seek their fortunes in the world--and fall into such evils! --poor _Tom!_ to be tortured upon a rack for nothing--but marrying a Jew’s widow who sold sausages--honest _Dick Johnson’s_ soul to be scourged out of his body, for the ducats another man put into his knapsack! --O! --these are misfortunes, cried _Trim_, --pulling out his handkerchief--these are misfortunes, may it please your honour, worth lying down and crying over. --My father could not help blushing.