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When he heard the swish of the green waters cleaving before her keel, he put his helm hard down. "Hail them, Blob!" he screamed, and scrambling forward brought the lug-sail down with a rattle. "Boat ahoy" a voice from the frigate "who are you?" Blob stood in the bows, one hand on the flapping jib. "Oi'm Blob Oad what killed Nabowlin Bownabaardie," he yelled.
Blob dropped his voice to a mysterious whisper. "Squoire Nabowlin. Mus. Poiper tall me." "Who?" "Squoire Nabowlin," reiterated the boy. "Nabowlin Bounabaardie the top Frenchie. See the legs on him! red and gold and buttons and all." The Gentleman was sauntering across the grass towards the cottage, his hands behind him. The Parson brushed aside the mattress, and thrust out, snarling.
"I don't know your name," said the Victor of the Nile with grave courtesy. "But I may shake you by the hand?" "Ye'," said Blob, mouth and eyes round. "Thank you," said the hero, taking the other's limp paw. "I am Lord Nelson." "Ah," said Blob. "O'im Blob Oad what killed Nabowlin Bownabaardie." "You've saved me a lot o trouble," replied Nelson, grave but for his twinkling eye.
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