"Yea."
"Wal," said Captain Corbet; after a pause, "I've knowed things stranger than that."
"So hev I."
"Air thar any isle of the ocean in particular that you happen to hev in your mind's eye now?"
"Thar air."
"Which?"
"Ile Haute."
"Wal, now, railly, I declar—ef I wan't thinkin o' that very spot myself. An I war thinkin, as I war a comin up the bay, that that thar isle of the ocean was about the only spot belongin to this here bay that hadn't been heerd from. An it ain't onlikely that them shores could a tale onfold that mought astonish some on us. I shouldn't wonder a mite."
"Nor me," said Bennie, gravely.
"It's either a timber ship, or a desert island, as you say,—that's sartin," said Captain Corbet, after further thought, speaking with strong emphasis. "Thar ain't a mite o' doubt about it; an which o' them it is air a very even question. For my part, I'd as soon bet on one as t'other."