sighs, and half-uttered exclamations of "God help them."
As the sad procession wound its slow way beneath the scorching noonday sun, toiling up the little crooked, narrow street, an interruption occurred. In one of the very narrowest portions of the street a gay cavalcade was seen approaching—their gay military harness ringing out and glittering in the sunbeams.
It was the new governor, Sir William Phips, who had only arrived in the country in the previous May; and who was now riding into town, accompanied by a party of officers, most of them composing his suite, and one or two personal friends.
Laughing and jesting in true military style, they drew near; but the street was too narrow to allow of two such pageants at one time, and for once grim Death stood back, jostled out of the way by busy, joyful Life.
The miserable, creaking, jolting death-cart drew up on one side of the narrow street, and halted, to allow the governor and his suite to pass by.
