Mr
Uggleston any more. We want to get back home."

"Yes," said my father; "but--"

He made a movement with his head towards the French skipper.

"Oh, come along, Captain Duncan," growled old Jonas surlily. "You must
drink a glass with him. I won't poison you this time."

"Thanks, Uggleston," said my father quietly; and, intimate as I was with
Bigley, school-fellows and companions as we were, I could not help
noticing the difference, and how thoroughly my father was the gentleman
and Jonas Uggleston the commonplace seafaring man.

"Here, Mother Bonnet!" cried old Jonas, "the boys want something. You
see to them."

The old woman took us into her kitchen, as she called it, and attended
to our wants; but I could hear what went on in the other room, and the
French skipper's words as they all partook of something together.

Ten minutes after, my father called me by name, and I found him waiting
with the doctor outside, the Frenchman beaming on all in turn.

"Ve are ze old amis, le vieux--ze old Jonas and myselfs. Sare, I am
been glad I receive ze boys on my sheep."

"And I thank you, captain," replied my father. "You have saved my boy's
life. Will you accept this in remembrance? It is old but good."

My father drew out his plain gold watch, and I saw the Frenchman's eyes
glisten as he stretched out a not very clean hand.

But he snatched it back directly.

"Mais non--but no!" he exclaimed. "I not have hims. We are sailors
all. Some day I am in open boat, and you take me in your sheep, and say
`Ma foi! Pauvre fellow, you cold--you hoongrai--you starve youselfs.'
And you give me hot grogs, and varm fires, and someting to eats. I no
give you ze gold vatch. Mais non--mais non--mais non. Voila. I take
zat hankshife, blue as ze skies of France, and I wear him roun' my
necks. Give me hims."

My father smiled and then unknotted the bright blue silk neckerchief he
wore, and accompanied it with a hearty shake of the hand.

"Thank you, captain," he said warmly.

"And you--merci. We go to war some day. Who know I may be prisonaire.
I may come to fight against you, and then. Eh bien, ve fight, but you
take me prisonaire, ma foi. I am vis ze shentleman, and it is good."

"And now it's my turn," said the doctor. "Will you keep this, captain,
from me?"

"Ma foi. Yais, oui," cried the French skipper, whose eyes sparkled with
pleasure as the doctor handed him a very bright peculiarly-formed knife.
"I