This caused some panic and a general retreat; for though the immortal
Napoleon had scarcely finished changing his teeth as yet, a chronic
uneasiness about Crappos haunted that coast already, and they might
have sent this little boy to pave the way, being capable of almost
everything.

"Frogman!" cried the old woman next to her by birth, and believed to
have higher parts, though not yet ripe. "Na, na; what Frogman here?
Frogmen ha' skinny shanks, and larks' heels, and holes down their bodies
like lamperns. No sign of no frog aboot yon bairn. As fair as a wench,
and as clean as a tyke. A' mought a'most been born to Flaambro'. And
what gowd ha' Crappos got, poor divils?"

This opened the gate for a clamor of discourse; for there surely could
be no denial of her words. And yet while her elder was alive and out of
bed, the habit of the village was to listen to her say, unless any man
of equal age arose to countervail it. But while they were thus divided,
Mrs. Cockscroft came, and they stood aside. For she had been kind to
everybody when her better chances were; and now in her trouble all were
grieved because she took it so to heart. Joan Cockscroft did not say
a word, but glanced at the child with some contempt. In spite of white
linen and yellow gold, what was he to her own dead Robin?

But suddenly this child, whatever he was, and vastly soever inferior,
opened his eyes and sent home their first glance to the very heart of
Joan Cockscroft. It was the exact look--or so she always said--of her
dead angel, when she denied him something, for the sake of his poor dear
stomach. With an outburst of tears, she flew straight to the little one,
snatched him in her arms, and tried to cover him with kisses.