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-cock, 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.