Part 37 (1/2)

The sun was high when he awoke, and as he descended to breakfast he heard Caleb's mallet already at work on the quay below.

Still, anxious to set his doubts at rest, he made a hasty meal, and walked down to take a second opinion on the vision.

Caleb, with his back towards the house, was busily fitting a new thwart into Mr. Fogo's boat, and singing with extreme gaiety--

”Oh, where be the French dogs?

Oh! where be they, O?

They be down i' their long-boats, All on the salt say, O!”

What with the song and the hammering, he did not hear his master's approach.

”Up flies the kite, An' down flies the lark, O!

Wi' hale an' tow, rumbleow--”

”Good-morning, Caleb.”

”Aw, mornin' to 'ee, sir. You took me unawares--

”All for to fetch home, The summer an' the May, O!

For summer is a-come, An' winter es a-go.'”

”Caleb, I have seen a ghost.”

The mallet stopped in mid-descent. Caleb looked up again open-mouthed.

”Tom Twist and Harry Dingle!”

”I beg your pardon?”

”Figger o' speech, sir, meanin' 'Who'd ha' thought et?' Whose ghost, sir, ef 'taint a rude question?”

Mr. Fogo told his story.

At its conclusion, Caleb laid down his mallet and whistled.

”'Tes the leppards, sure 'nuff, a-ha'ntin' o' th' ould place.

Scriptur' says they will not change their spots, an' I'm blest ef et don't say truth. But deary me, sir, an' axin' your pardon for sayin'

so, you'm a game-c.o.c.k, an' no mistake.”

”I?”

”Iss, sir. Two knacks 'pon the floor, an' I'd ha' been up in a jiffey. But niver mind, sir, us'll wait up for mun to-night, an'

I'll get the loan o' the Dearlove's blunderbust in case they gets pol-rumptious.”

Mr. Fogo deprecated the blunderbuss, but agreed to sit up for the ghost; and so for the time the matter dropped. But Caleb's eyes followed his master admiringly for the rest of the day, and more than once he had to express his feelings in vigorous soliloquy.

”Niver tell me! Looks as ef he'd no more pluck nor a field-mouse; an' I'm darned ef he takes more 'count of a ghost than he wud of a circuit-preacher. Blest ef I don't think ef a sperrit was to knack at the front door, he'd tell 'un to wipe hes feet 'pon the mat, an'