Vellour; a Friday my Salamanca again; a Saturday--let me see--a
Saturday,--for in those breeches I wore a Saturday is the letter: O,
my riding breeches, Uncle, those that you thought been velvet; in
those very breeches is the letter.

UNCLE.
When should it be dated?

FLOWERDALE.
Marry, Decimo tertio septembris--no, no--decimo tertio Octobris;
Aye, Octobris, so it is.

UNCLE.
Decimo tertio Octobris! and here receive I a letter that your father
died in June: how say you, Kester?

FATHER.
Yes, truly, sir, your father is dead, these hands of mine holp to
wind him.

FLOWERDALE.
Dead?

FATHER.
Aye, sir, dead.

FLOWERDALE.
Sblood, how should my father come dead?

FATHER.