"What is a barbarian, grandfather?"
"It is a Turk."
"Yes, but a Turk?"
"Oh! it's—it's—a Mohammedan—"
"A what!—a Moham—"
"A Mohammedan—a robber on board ship."
"On board ship!"
He was not going to give up his ascendancy in the matter, hard as she pushed him; so he bethought him of a pack of old tales there-anent, and went on to explain drily—
"They go to the Baltic—to Russia—to salt human flesh."
"Human flesh!"