"The last line alludes to my gal wot had recently e-loped wi' the
Rooshan," Caleb explained.
"Was that all?"
"That was all o' mine, sir, but Joe's was p'ints better.
Just listen:--"
"Fare thee well, Barnstaple steeple,--"
"(He was a Barnstaple man, sir, was Joe)--"
"Fare thee well, I say,
Never shall I see thee, once agen, a long time ago."
"Well, sir, we was just a-goin' to step back an' have another shy,
when the breeze sprang up a'most as sudden as et fell, and the
consikence es, sir, that I've niver made no more poetry from that day
to this."
The sun was getting low, as Mr. Fogo and Caleb stepped ashore on the
ruined quay at Kit's House, not far from the spit of land where the
lazars were buried. Kit's Cottage stood plain to see at a short
distance from the water, but Kit's House lay to the right, behind its
screen of laurels and elms. A narrow flight of steps and a path
along the cliff's edge brought the visitors to the front door.
It was a long, low house, with pointed windows on the upper storey,
and a deep verandah shading the ground-floor rooms. It faced the
south, and although few flowers were out, the ruined garden was
luxuriant with decay. One could see where the old Lazar-house had
been overlaid with the taste of more recent inhabitants, but, as
Caleb said, no one had lived here now for a dozen years or more.
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