been preserved. Nondescript dogs, bearing very little resemblance to the
original well-known breed, wandered aimlessly under the pelting rain.

Frenchy reached his dilapidated shack, and was the first to stop.

"Vell, so long," he said.

"_Au revoir à demain_!" I answered, as well as I could.

His somber, swarthy face brightened at the sound of words of his own
tongue. I believe that to him they were a tiny glimpse of something
well-beloved and of memories that refused to grow dim. For a moment he
stood at the door, beaming upon me. A small boy came out, very grimy of
face and hands and with a head covered with yellow curls. He was chiefly
clad in an old woollen jersey repaired with yarn of many hues, that
nearly reached his toes.

"_Papa Yves_!" he cried, leaping up joyfully, quite heedless of Frenchy's
dripping oilskins.

The sailor lifted up the child and kissed him, whereupon he grasped the
man's flaring ears as they projected from the huge tangled beard, and
with a burst of happy laughter kissed him on both cheeks, under the eyes,
in the only bare places.

We hurried on and soon reached one of the few houses distinguished from
others by a coat of paint. By this time the evening was near at hand, yet
the darkness would not have justified as yet a thrifty Newfoundland
housewife in burning valuable kerosene. But from the windows of this
place poured forth abundant light showing recklessness as to expense.