"There, now," he went on, after a pause, and turning round, "yonder's Kit's House, wi' Kit's Cottage, next door. You can't see the house so plain, 'cos 'tes behind the trees. But there 'tes, right enough."
"Is the cottage uninhabited, too?"
"Both on 'em. Ha'nted they do say. By the way, I niver axed 'ee whether you minded ghostes?"
"Ghosts?"
"Iss, ghostes. This 'ere place was a Lazarus one time, where they kept leppards."
"Leopards? How very singular!" murmured Mr. Fogo.
"Ay, leppards as white as snow, as the sayin' goes."
"Oh, I see," said Mr. Fogo, suddenly enlightened. "You mean that this was a Lazar-house."
"That's so—a Lazarus. The leppards used to live there together, and when they died, they was berried at dead o' night down at thicky spit you sees yonder. No one had dealin's wi' 'em nor went nigh 'em, 'cept that they was allowed to make ropes. 'Tesn' so many years that the rope-walk was moved down to th' harbour mouth."
Caleb stopped rowing, and leant forward on his paddles.