"Leastwise he'm no right to go spying here on our quay, and never ax with your leave, or by your leave. I'll just goo mak' mun out."
And Claude, who had just retreated into his tent, had the pleasure of finding the curtain suddenly withdrawn, and as a flood of light rushed in, spoiling his daguerreotype plate, hearing a voice as of a sleepy bear—
"Ax your pardon, sir; but what be you arter here?"
"Murder! shut the screen!" But it was too late; and Claude came out, while the eldest-born of Anak stood sternly inquiring,—
"I say, what be you arter here, mak' so boold?"
"Taking sun-pictures, my good sir, and you have spoilt one for me."
"Sun-picturs, saith a?" in a very incredulous tone.
"Daguerreotypes of the place, for Lord Scoutbush."
"Oh!—if it's his lordship's wish, of course! Only things is very well as they are, and needs no mending, thank God. Only, ax pardon, sir. You see, we don't generally allow no interfering on our pier without lave, sir; the pier being ourn, we pays for the repairing. So, if his lordship intends making of alterations, he'd better to have spoken to us first."
"Alterations?" said Claude, laughing; "the place is far too pretty to need any improvement."