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Many's the wan I've sent after her, ay, an' through her, and she none the worse. Guyablle!" and old Tom spat viciously. "Perhaps you missed her," suggested Graeme, not unreasonably as he thought. "Missed her!" with immense scorn. "I tell ee bullets goes clean through her, in one side an' out t'other, an' she never a bit the worse. I've foun' 'em myself spatted on rock just where she sat."
"You're just an unmitigated little humbug, Johnnie," said Graeme, as he leaned over the wall smoking, to the small boy whose acquaintance he had made the previous day, and who had promptly foretold a storm which had not come. "Unmitigumbug! Guyablle! Qu'es' ce que c'es' que ça?" echoed the small boy, with very wide eyes. "You, my son. Your black magic's all humbug.
"It is old Billy Mollet after his lobster-pots," and he stood up and coo-eed to the new-comer, and waved his arms till Billy saw them and stared hard and then turned leisurely their way. "Guyablle!" said the old man, as he drew in. "What you doin' there now?" "Got carried out of Grande Grève by a current, Mr. Mollet. Will you take us back in your boat?"
And I've told you before it's not polite to address a gentleman in a language he's not familiar with, when you're perfectly acquainted with his own. The only word I caught was 'Guyablle! and that's not a word for young people like you and me, though it may suit Marielihou. I'm very much afraid I'll have to speak to the schoolmaster about you, after all, and to the Vicar too, maybe. What?
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