All you come," he cried, and he thrust the others down and followed quickly.
"Pauvres garcons! Warm you my fire.

Chauffez vous.

Good you eat bread?
Good you drink bran-dee vis vater?
Not good for boy sometime, mais good now." He kept on chattering to us, half in English, half in French; and as he spoke he cut for us great pieces of bread and Devon butter, evidently freshly taken on board that day.

Next he took a large brown bottle from a locker, and mixed in a heavy, clumsy glass a stiff jorum of brandy with water 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.