"About livin' inside o' the
town, now--es that a shiny cannon?"
"A what?"
"A shiny cannon--which es the same as to say, won't et do elst?"
"Oh, a _sine-qua-non_," said Mr. Fogo; "no, I am not particularly
anxious to live in the town itself."
"Wud the matter of a mile up the river be out o' the way?"
"Not at all."
"An' about rent?"
"Within reasonable limits, that would not matter."
"Then my advice to you, sir, es to see the Twins about et."
Mr. Fogo's mild face looked more puzzled than ever. He removed his
spectacles, wiped and resumed them.
"For any reasonable object," he said, "I am ready to see any number
of twins--much as I dislike babies--"
But here Caleb interrupted him by bursting into a roar of laughter
which lasted for half a minute.
"Babbies! Well I--ho! ho!--'scuse me, sir--but aw dear, aw dear!
Babbies! Bab--" Here he slapped his thigh and broke into another
roar, at the end of which he grew fairly black in the face.
"Bless yer innocent heart, sir! They'm a matter o' six foot high,
the both--and risin' forty. Dearlove's their name--and lives up the
river 'long wi' their sister--Peter an' Paul an' Tamsin (which es
short for Thom-a-si-na), an' I've heerd tell as the boys came nigh to
bein' chrisn'd Sihon an' Og, on'y the old Vicar said he'd be blowed
fust--very free wi' his langwidge was th' ould Vicar.
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