erved Bigley the same, and
then took hold of Bob, whose face wore such an absurdly comical aspect
of horror and disgust, that I stood holding my breath, and not daring to
look at Bigley for fear I should roar with laughter.

"Dat is well," exclaimed the skipper. "It is done, my braves. Good--
good--good. You tink I speak Engleish magnificentment, is it not?"

He looked round at us all, and nodded a great many times. "Now you are
warm dry, come on ze pont and see my sheep. Ze belle chasse maree. She
sail like de bird. Is it not? Now come see."

We went on deck, and found as he took us about amongst the crew of seven
men, all wearing petticoat canvas trousers, that the big lugger was very
dirty and untidy, wanting in paint, and with the deck, or pont as the
skipper called it, one litter of baskets, packages, and uncoiled ropes.
On the other hand she seemed to be very long and well shaped, and her
masts, which were thick and short, had large yards and tremendous sails,
which in a favourable wind sent her through the water at a very rapid
rate.

"Aha! You lofe my sheep," said the skipper, as he watched our faces.
"You tink she run herselfs very fas, eh?"

We expressed our pleasure, which was the greater that we could see now
that the two bold masses which formed the entrance to the Gap were right
before us; but even now, as far as we could judge, six or seven miles
away.

We took a good deal of notice of this, for it showed us how far we had
been driven out by the fierce little gale of the previous night; and as
I looked over the stern at where our boat was being towed along in the
foam, and was thinking that we must have had a narrow escape, the French
skipper clapped me on the shoulder, laughed, and said:

"You wonder you not go to feed ze fishes at ze bottom? Yes, much; et
moi aussi. Ah, mon brave, you nearly go, and--no boat--no boy--no
noting. Hah!"

I shivered as I realised the truth of what he said, and was musing over
what was to come, when Bigley came to me, for the skipper had gone to
his men.

"Don't tease Bob," he said. "Don't say anything to him about being
queer last night, nor about me bullying him. He couldn't help it."

"Oh, I sha'n't say anything," I said.

"He couldn't help it," whispered Bigley again. "No more could I."

We all grew very serious then, for as we neared the shore, there was the
question to think over about meeting our fathers, and what they would
say. Would t