'

"At las', sir, they prizes open the chest an' the tin case, an'
there, o' cou'se, lay th' ould man, sleepin' an' smilin' so
paiceful-like he looked ha'f a Commodore an' ha'f a cherry-bun."

"I suppose you mean 'cherubim,' Caleb?" corrected Mr. Fogo.

"I s'pose I do, sir; tho' I reckon th' ould man seemed happier than
he were, havin' been a 'nation scamp in hes young days, an' able to
swear to the las' so's t'wud pretty nigh fetch the mortar out'n a
brick wall. Hows'ever, that's not to the p'int here.

"Aw, sir, you may fancy how them poor ign'rant furriners left that
Custom House. Sam told me arterwards 'twere like shellin' peas--
spakin' in pinafores--"

"Metaphors," said Mr. Fogo.

"That's et--met-afores. Anyway, they jest fetched a yell, an' then
_went_, sir. I guess Sam knawed the Spanish for 'corpse' afore
they was gone. In less 'n a minnit not a pair o' coloured breeches
cud you find, not ef you wanted them fancy articles ever so.
Sam chuckles a bit to hissel', fas'ens down the lid so well as he
cud, h'ists the Commodore aboard a wheelbarrer, an' trundles 'un off
to the train.

"He cotches the train jest as 'twere startin', an' sails away in a
fust-class carr'ge all to hissel', wi' the Commodore laid 'long the
seat opposite; 'for,' said Sam, 'drat expense when a fun'ral's
goin'!' An' all the way he chuckles an' grins to hissel', to think
o' the start he'd gi'ed they Custom House rascals; an' at las' he
gets that tickled he's bound to lie back an' fairly hurt hissel' wi'
laffin'.

"I reckon, tho', he laffed a bit too early; for jest then the train
slowed down, and pulled up at a stashun. Sam looked out an' saw a
dapper little man a-bustlin' up an' down the platform, like a bee in
a bottle, an' pryin' into the carr'ge windeys same as ef the train
were a peep-show. Presently he opens the door of Sam's compartment,
an' axes, holdin' up a tellygram--

"'Be you the party as es travellin' wi' a dead man?'

"He spoke i' Spanish, o' cou'se, sir; but, not knowin' the tongue, I
tells et to you in English."

"I had guessed that to be the reason," replied Mr. Fogo.

"Well, Sam were a bit tuk aback, but he answers--

"'Iss, I be. Why?'

"'Want 'un berried?'

"'Why, no, not partic'lar. Sooner or later, o' cou'se; but, thank'ee
all the same, I'm thinkin' to do et a bit furder on.'

"'Then,' says the dapper man, 'I'll trouble you to hand over the
berryin' fees for this parish.'

"'But I baint g