CHAPTER TWENTY.
THE CAPTAIN OF THE LUGGER.
"Eh ben!" he shouted.

"Eh ben! Eh ben!" while half a dozen yellow-faced little fellows with rings in their ears looked down upon us and grinned.
All at once they made way for a quick dark-looking body, with tiny half grey corkscrew ringlets hanging round under his fur cap, not only at the sides but all over his forehead.

It was a man evidently, but he looked like an elderly sharp-eyed wrinkled-faced woman, as he pushed a big lad aside, and putting his arms on the bulwark, stared down at us.
"Vell, lad, vot you vant ?" he said.
"Hungry, sir.

Blown off the shore, sir," I cried.

"We can't row back.
Can you understand?
No parly vous." "Bah, stupe, thick, headblock, who ask you parlez-vous?
I am England much, and speak him abondomment.