Whilst my father was writing his letter of instructions, my uncle Toby and the corporal were busy in preparing everything for the attack. As the turning of the thin scarlet breeches was laid aside (at least for the present), there was nothing which should put it off beyond the next morning; so accordingly it was resolved upon, for eleven o’clock.

Come, my dear, said my father to my mother⁠—’twill be but like a brother and sister, if you and I take a walk down to my brother Toby’s⁠⸺⁠to countenance him in this attack of his.

My uncle Toby and the corporal had been accoutred both some time, when my father and mother enter’d, and the clock striking eleven, were that moment in motion to sally forth⁠—but the account of this is worth more than to be wove into the fag end of the eighth volume of such a work as this.⁠⸺⁠My father had no time but to put the letter of instructions into my uncle Toby’s coat-pocket⁠⸺⁠and join with my mother in wishing his attack prosperous.

I could like, said my mother, to look through the keyhole out of curiosity⁠⸺⁠Call it by its right name, my dear, quoth my father⁠—

And look through the keyhole as long as you will.