"'Tes so true, sir, as I'm here—or so Sam used to say. An' the moral goes agen talkin' lightly o' what a man don't understand," he added reflectively. "But forebodin' es so bad as witch-craf', an' 'tes more'n likely they won't come to-night; but if they does, 'tes on'y fair to ax mun who they be dree times afore firin'. What's fair for man es fair—"
He broke off and clutched his master by the arm.
"Look, sir—look!"
About the deck of the old schooner a shaft of light was dancing fitfully—now here, now there, up and down—and all without visible source or guidance.
The two watchers leapt to their feet and peered out at the window.
The strange brilliance flickered to and fro, falling even on the further bank, and threading with a line of yellow the silver-grey of the moonlight. Then it ceased suddenly.
Caleb and his master waited breathlessly. Half a minute passed without further sign. Then they heard a light splash or two, and Mr. Fogo pointed frantically at the line of the moon's reflection on the creek.
"There! Look—the boat!"
Caleb whipped the blunderbuss up to his shoulder and shouted—
"Who be 'ee? Darn 'ee, here goes—wan, two, dree, all to wanst!"