s affaires vis
monsieur votre pere? Aha! Oh, no, nod-a-dalls."

He gave his nose a great many little taps with his right forefinger as
he spoke, and ended by winking both his eyes a great many times, with
the effect that the gold rings in his ears danced, and then he went up
the little ladder through the hatchway, to stand half out for a few
minutes giving orders, while we had a good look at the lower part of his
person, which was clothed in what would have been a stiff canvas
petticoat, had it not been sewn up between his legs, so as to turn it
into the fashion of a pair of trousers, worn over a pair of heavy
fishermen's boots.

Then he went up the rest of the way, and let in more light and air,
while the motion of the vessel plainly told us that her course had been
altered.

"Well," said Bob Chowne, speaking now for the first time, "he's the
rummest looking beggar I ever saw. Looks as if you might cut him up and
make monkeys out of the stuff."

"Well, of all the ungrateful--"

I began a sentence, but Bob cut me short.

"I'm not ungrateful," he said sharply; "and I'm getting nice and warm
now; but what does a man want to wear ear-rings for like a girl, and
curl up his hair in little greasy ringlets, that look as if they'd been
twisted round pipes, and--I say, boys, did you see his breeches?"

I nodded rather grimly.

"And his boots, old Big; did you see his boots?"

"Yes, they looked good water-tighters," said Bigley quietly, and he
seemed now to have settled down into his regular old fashion, while Bob
Chowne was getting saucy.

"And then his hands! Did you see his hands?" continued Bob. "I thought
at first I could not eat the bread and butter he had touched. I don't
believe he ever washes them."

"Why, he had quite small brown hands," said Bigley. "Mine are ever so
much larger."

"Yes, but how dirty they were!"

"It was only tar," said Bigley. "He has been hauling new ropes. Look,
some came off on my hand when he had hold of it."

"I don't care, I say it was dirt," said Bob obstinately. "He's a
Frenchman, and Frenchmen are all alike--nasty, dirty-looking beggars."

"Well, I thought as he brought us down in the cabin here, and gave us
that warm drink and the bread and butter, what a pity it was that French
and English should ever fight and kill one another."

"Yah! Hark at him, Sep Duncan," cried Bob. "There's a sentimental,
unnatural chap. What do you say?"

"Oh, I only say what a