"A dooplicity, sir, otherwise another of the same identical."

"Oh, I see."

"Iss, sir. 'Tes like that rhyme about the Force o' Natur' what cudn'
no furder go, and you can't do 't agen, not ef you try all you know."

"You are fond of poetry, I see," said Mr. Fogo, with a smile.

"Puffec'ly dotes on et, sir."

"Have you ever composed any yourself?"

"Once 'pon a time, sir," said Caleb, pausing in his work, and leaning
forward very mysteriously. "Ef you cares to hear, I don't mind
tellin' 'ee; on'y you must gi' me your Davy you won't let et out to
nobody."

Mr. Fogo gave the required promise.

"Well, 'twas in this way. Once 'pon a time, me an' old Joe Bonaday
was workin' a smack round from Bristol. The _Betsy Ann_ was her
name, No. 1077 o' Troy. Joe was skipper, an' me mate; there was a
boy aboard for crew, but he don't count. Well us got off Ilfrycombe
one a'ternoon--August month et was, an' pipin' hot--when my blessed
parlyment, says Molly Franky--"

"Who was she?"