my lad, if thou’ll do me a kindness, I’ll pay thee back, niver fear, and they’ll be glad enough to get shut on us, and send us to old England again.  Just come down with a will.”  Now, missus, why can’t ye sit still and listen to me, ‘stead o’ pottering after pans and what not?’ said he, speaking crossly to his wife, who had heard the story scores of times, and, it must be confessed, was making some noise in preparing bread and milk for Sylvia’s supper.

Bell did not say a word in reply, but Sylvia tapped his shoulder with a pretty little authoritative air.

’It’s for me, feyther.  I’m just keen-set for my supper.  Once let me get quickly set down to it, and Philip there to his glass o’ grog, and you’ll never have such listeners in your life, and mother’s mind will be at ease too.’

‘Eh! thou’s a wilfu’ wench,’ said the proud father, giving her a great slap on her back.  ’Well! set thee down to thy victual, and be quiet wi’ thee, for I want to finish my tale to Philip.  But, perhaps, I’ve telled it yo’ afore?’ said he, turning round to question Hepburn.

Hepburn could not say that he had not heard it, for he piqued himself on his truthfulness.  But instead of frankly and directly owning this, he tried to frame a formal little speech, which would soothe Daniel’s mortified vanity; and, of course, it had the directly opposite effect.  Daniel resented being treated like a child, and yet turned his back on Philip with all the wilfulness of one.  Sylvia did not care for her cousin, but hated the discomfort of having her father displeased; so she took up her tale of adventure, and told her father and mother of her afternoon’s proceedings.  Daniel pretended not to listen at first, and made ostentatious noises with his spoon and glass; but by-and-by he got quite warm and excited about the doings of the press-gang, and scolded both Philip and Sylvia for not having learnt more particulars as to what was the termination of the riot.

‘I’ve been whaling mysel’,’ said he; ’and I’ve heerd tell as whalers wear knives, and I’d ha’ gi’en t’ gang a taste o’ my whittle, if I’d been cotched up just as I’d set my foot a-shore.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Philip; ‘we’re at war wi’ the French, and we shouldn’t like to be beaten; and yet if our numbers are not equal to theirs, we stand a strong chance of it.’

‘Not a bit on’t—­so be d—­d!’ said Daniel Robson, bringing down his fist with such violence on the round deal table, that the glasses and earthenware shook again.  ’Yo’d not strike a child or a woman, for sure! yet it ‘ud be like it, if we did na’ give the Frenchies some ’vantages—­if we took ’em wi’ equal numbers.  It’s not fair play, and that’s one place where t’ shoe pinches.  It’s not fair play two ways.  It’s not fair play to cotch up men as has no call for fightin’ at another man’s biddin’, though they’ve no objection to fight a bit on their own account and who are just landed, all keen after bread i’stead o’ biscuit, and flesh-meat