self Mrs--Laker being her
maiden name. This statement involves a further explanation, inasmuch as
it establishes the fact that Bluenose ought, in simple justice and
propriety, to have gone by the name of Laker also.

But on the beach of Deal justice and propriety in regard to names are
not necessarily held in great repute. At least they were not so a few
years ago. Smuggling, as has been said, was rather prevalent in days
gone by. Indeed, the man who was not a smuggler was an exception to the
rule, if such a man ever existed. During their night expeditions,
boatmen were often under the necessity of addressing each other in
hoarse whispers, at times and in circumstances when coast-guard ears
were uncommonly acute. Hence, in order to prevent inconvenient
recognition, the men were wont to give each other nicknames, which
nicknames descended frequently to their offspring.

The father of Captain Bluenose and of Mrs Laker had been a notorious
scamp about the beginning of this century, at which period Deal may be
said to have been in full swing in regard to smuggling and the French
war. The old smuggler was uncommonly well acquainted with the towns of
Calais, Gravelines, Dunkerque, Nieuport, and Ostende--notwithstanding
that they lay in the enemy's country. He had also enough of bad French
to enable him to carry on his business, and was addicted to French
brandy. It was the latter circumstance which turned his nose purple;
procuring for him, as well as entailing on his son, the name of
Bluenose, a name which our Captain certainly did not deserve, seeing
that his nose was fiery red in colour,--perhaps a little too fat to be
styled classic, but, on the whole, a most respectable nose.

Few of the boatmen of Deal went by their right names; but such
soubriquets as Doey, Jack Onion, Skys'lyard Dick, Mackerel, Trappy,
Rodney Nick, Sugarplum, etcetera, were common enough. Perchance they
are not obsolete at the present day!

While the crew of the "Nancy" were making merry in the kitchen, the
parlour bell rang violently, and Laker disappeared from the scene.

"You're wanted, Tommy, darling," said the worthy woman, returning
promptly.

Tommy rose and was ushered into the parlour.

"Little boy," said Mrs Foster, "my son Guy has sent a message requiring
your attendance. I tried to prevent him seeing you; but he insists on
it. Come, I will take you to his room. You must try, child, and not
encourage him to talk. It wil