"Well, I laffed—I was forced to laff—but arter a while et grew a bit too strong, an' I runned up to th' house to fetch down a few folks to look. I warn't away 'bove ten minnits; but when I comed back there warn't no rook to be seen, nor no eye nuther. They'd a-carr'd et off to Squire Tresawsen's rookery, an' et's niver been seen fro' that day to this."
There was silence for a few moments as Caleb finished his story and lit another pipe. Finally Mr. Fogo roused him to ask—
"What became of your master, Caleb?"
"Dead, sir—dead," answered Caleb, staring into the embers of the fire. "He lived to a powerful age, tho' albeit a bit totelin' [14] in hes latter days. But for all that he mou't ha' been like Tantra-bobus—lived till he died, or at least been a centurion—"
"A what?"
"Centurion, sir; otherwise a hundred years old. But he went round land [15] at las', an' was foun' dead in hes bed—o' heart-break, they did say, 'long o' his gran'-darter Joanna runnin' away wi' an army cap'n."
"Ah!" said Mr. Fogo, pensively, "she was a woman, was she not?"
"To be sure, sir; what elst?—a female woman, an' so baptised."
There was a moment's silence; then Caleb resumed—
"But contrari-wise, sir, the army cap'n was a man."