"If he goes meddling with our drains, and knocking of our back-yards
about, he'll find himself over quay before he's done."

"Steady! Steady. He come with my loord, mind."

"He might a' taken in his loordship, and be a Roossian spy to the bottom
of him after all. They mak' munselves up into all manner of
disguisements, specially beards. I've seed the Roossians with their
beards many a time."

"Maybe 'tis witchcraft. Look to mun, putting mun's head under that black
bag now! He'm after no good, I'll warrant. If they ben't works of
darkness, what be?"

"Leastwise he'm no right to go spying here on our quay, and never ax
with your leave, or by your leave. I'll just goo mak' mun out."

And Claude, who had just retreated into his tent, had the pleasure of
finding the curtain suddenly withdrawn, and as a flood of light rushed
in, spoiling his daguerreotype plate, hearing a voice as of a sleepy
bear--

"Ax your pardon, sir; but what be you arter here?"

"Murder! shut the screen!" But it was too late; and Claude came out,
while the eldest-born of Anak stood sternly inquiring,--

"I say, what be you arter here, mak' so boold?"