That's so. Mally were a witch, like her mother afore her; an' the
best proof es, her wore a limp arter this to the day o' her death."
Mr. Fogo roused himself from his abstraction to ask--
"Do you seriously believe it was a ghost that I saw last night?"
"That's as may be. Ef 'taint, 'tes folks as has no bus'ness
hereabouts. I've heerd tell as you'm wi'in the law ef you hails mun
dree times afore firin'. That's what I means to do, anyway. As for
ghostes, I do believe, an' I don't believe."
"What? That a man's spirit comes back after death to trouble folks?"
"I dunno 'bout sperrit: but I heerd a tale wance 'bout a man's
remains as gi'ed a peck o' trouble arter death. 'Twas ould Commodore
Trounce as the remains belonged to, an' 'tes a queer yarn, ef you
niver heerd et afore."
Caleb looked at his master. Mr. Fogo had not yet told the story of
his call at "The Bower"; but Caleb saw that he was suffering, and had
planned this story as a diversion.
The bait took. Mr. Fogo looked up expectant, and lit a fresh pipe.
So Caleb settled himself in his corner of the window-seat, and, still
keeping an eye on the old schooner, began--
"THE COMMODORE'S PROGRESS.
"You've heerd me spake, sir, o' Joe Bonaday, him as made poetry 'long
wi' me wan time when lying becalmed off Ilfrycombe?"
"Certainly.
Pages:
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233