"
"Well," sais I, "let Halifax alone for hoaxes. There are some droll
coves in that place, that's a fact. Many a laugh have I had there, I
tell you. But, Doctor," sais I, "just listen to the noises on shore
here at Chesencook. It's a curious thing to hear the shout of the
anxious mother to her vagrant boy to return, before night makes it too
dark to find his way home, ain't it? and to listen to the noisy
gambols of invisible children, the man in the cloud bawling to his ox,
as if the fog had affected their hearing instead of their sight, the
sharp ring of the axe at the wood pile, and the barking of the dogs as
they defy or salute each other. One I fancy is a grumbling bark, as
much as to say, 'No sleep for us, old boy, to-night, some of these
coasters will be making love to our sheep as they did last week, if we
don't keep a bright look out. If you hear a fellow speak English,
pitch right into the heretic, and bite like a snapping turtle. I
always do so in the dark, for they can't swear to you when they don't
see you. If they don't give me my soup soon (how like a French dog
that, ain't it?) I'll have a cod-fish for my supper to-night, off of
old Jodry's flakes at the other end of the harbour, for our masters
bark so loud they never bite, so let them accuse little Paul Longille
of theft.' I wonder if dogs do talk, Doctor?" said I.
"There is no doubt of it," he replied.
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