from a kettle on the stove. Into this glass he put plenty of
Bristol brown sugar, and made us all drink heartily in turn, so as to
empty the glass, when he filled it again.

"It is--c'est bon--good phee-seek--make you no enrhumee--you no have
colds. No. Eat, boys. Aha! You warm yourselves. Hey?"

We thanked him, for the glowing stove, the sheltered cabin, the hot
brandy and water, and the soft new bread and butter, seemed to give us
all new life. The warm blood ran through our veins, and our clothes
soon ceased to steam. The French skipper, who had, as we rowed to the
side of the lugger, looked about as unpleasant and villainous a being as
it was possible to meet, now seemed quite a good genius, and whatever
his failings or the nature of his business, he certainly appeared to be
deriving real pleasure from his task of restoring the three
half-perished lads who had appealed to him for help, and the more we
ate, the more he rubbed his hands together and laughed.

"How zey feroce like ze volf, eh? How zey are very mosh hunger. Eat
you, my young vrens. Eat you, my young son of ze Jonas Ugglee-stone. I
know you fader. He is mon ami. Aha! I drink your helse all of you
varey."

He poured himself out a little dram of the spirit and tossed it off.

For a good half hour he devoted himself to us, making us eat, stoking
the little stove, and giving us blankets and rough coats to wear to get
us warm again. After that he turned to Bigley and laid his arms upon
his shoulders, drooping his hands behind, and throwing back his head as
he looked him in the face.

"You like me make my sheep to you hous, yais?"

"Take us home, sir. Oh, if you please," cried Bigley.

"Good--c'est bon--my frien. I make my sheep take you. Lay off, you
say, and you land in your leettle boats. My faith, yes! And you tell
you fader the Capitaine Apollo Gualtiere--he pronounced his surname as
if it was Goo-awl-tee-yairrrre--make him present of hees sone, and hees
young friens. Brave boys. Ha, ha!"

He nodded to us all in turn, and smiled as he gave us each a friendly
rap on the chest with the back of his hand.

"Now you warm mosh more my stove, and I go on le pont to make my sheep."

"But do you know the Gap, sir?" said Bigley eagerly.

"Do I know ze Gahp? Aha! Ho, ho! Do I not know ze Gahp vis him eye
shut? Peep! Eh? Aha! And every ozer place chez ze cote. Do I evaire
make my sheep off ze Gahp to de leettl business--de