CHAPTER XXI
THE FOX AND FIDDLE
Three dirty children with blue eyes, fair locks, and round,
chubby faces, deepened by a warm peach-like tint beneath
the skin, such as are to be seen in plenty along our
southern seaboard, were busily engaged building a grotto
of shells opposite their home, at the exact spot where its
construction was most in the way of pedestrians passing
through the narrow ill-paved street. Their shrill cries and
blooming looks denoted the salubrious influence of sea air,
while their nationality was sufficiently attested by the
vigour with which the eldest, a young lady less than ten
years of age, called out "Frenchie! Frenchie! Froggie!
Froggie!" after a foreign-looking man with a pale face
and dark eyes, who stepped over the low half-door that
restrained her infant brothers and sisters from rolling out
into the gutter, as if he was habitually a resident in the
house. He appeared, indeed, a favourite with the children,
for while they recalled him to assist their labours, which
he did with a good-nature and address peculiarly winning
to architects of that age, they chanted in his praise, and
obviously with the intention of doing him high honour, a
ditty of no particular tune, detailing the matrimonial
adventures of an amphibious animal, supposed in the last
century to bear close affinity to all Frenchmen, as related
with a remarkable chorus by one Anthony Rowley; and
the obliging foreigner, suspecting neither sarcasm nor
insult, but only suffering torture from an utter absence
of tune, hummed lustily in accompaniment.
Over the heads of these urchins hung their paternal
