By the way, I niver axed 'ee
whether you minded ghostes?"
"Ghosts?"
"Iss, ghostes. This 'ere place was a Lazarus one time, where they
kept leppards."
"Leopards? How very singular!" murmured Mr. Fogo.
"Ay, leppards as white as snow, as the sayin' goes."
"Oh, I see," said Mr. Fogo, suddenly enlightened. "You mean that
this was a Lazar-house."
"That's so--a Lazarus. The leppards used to live there together, and
when they died, they was berried at dead o' night down at thicky spit
you sees yonder. No one had dealin's wi' 'em nor went nigh 'em,
'cept that they was allowed to make ropes. 'Tesn' so many years that
the rope-walk was moved down to th' harbour mouth."
Caleb stopped rowing, and leant forward on his paddles.
"These 'ere leppards in time got to be quite a happy famb'ly--'cept,
of course, they warn't happy, 'cos nobody wudn' have nuthin' to say
to 'em. Well, the story goes as one on 'em got falled in love wi' by
a very nice gal down in Troy, and one fine day she ups an' tells her
sorrowin' parents that she's agoin' to marry a leppard. 'Not ef we
knows et,' says they; 'we forbids the banns'; and wi' that they went
off to bed thinkin' as they'd settled et. 'But,' says Parson
Lasky--"
"Who was he?" interrupted Mr. Fogo.
"On'y a figger o' speech, sir, and nothin' to do wi' the yarn, as the
strollin' actor said when his theayter cotched a-fire.
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