“Sing, sir? Do I sing? Oh, I’m indifferent enough, sir, for that; but the reason why the gravedigger made music must have been because there was none in his spade, sir. But the caulking mallet is full of it. Hark to it.”

“Aye, and that’s because the lid there’s a sounding-board; and what in all things makes the sounding-board is this⁠—there’s naught beneath. And yet, a coffin with a body in it rings pretty much the same, Carpenter. Hast thou ever helped carry a bier, and heard the coffin knock against the churchyard gate, going in?”

“Faith, sir, I’ve⁠—”

“Faith? What’s that?”

“Why, faith, sir, it’s only a sort of exclamation-like⁠—that’s all, sir.”

“Um, um; go on.”

“I was about to say, sir, that⁠—”