sailors, and the proof that he was born to be a sailor and to fight was that he had no head for business.  When you were born we were in such a bad way that I took you on my knees and cried bitterly.  You see that sailors are not like the rest of the world.  I have known many who entered upon a term of service with a good round sum of money in their possession.  They would heat the silver pieces in a frying-pan and throw them into the street, splitting their sides with laughter at the crowd which scrambled for them.  This was meant to show that it was not for mercenary motives that they were ready to risk their lives, and that honour and duty cannot be posted in a ledger.  And then there was your poor uncle Peter.  I cannot tell you what trouble he used to give me.”

“Tell me about him,” I said, “for somehow or other I like him very much.”

“You saw him once; he met us near the bridge, and he lifted his hat to you, but you were too much respected in the neighbourhood for him to venture to speak to you, though I did not like to tell you so.  He was one of the best-natured creatures in existence, but he could never be got to apply himself to work.  He was always lounging about, passing the best part of the day and night in taverns.  He was honest and good-hearted withal, but there was no getting him to follow any trade.  You have no idea how agreeable he was until the life he led had exhausted him.  He was a universal favourite, and with his inexhaustible stock of tales, proverbs, and funny stories, he was welcome everywhere.  He was very well read, too, and by no means devoid of learning.  He was the oracle of the taverns, and was the life and soul of any party at which he might be present.  He effected a regular literary revolution.  Heretofore the only books which people cared for were the Quatre Fils d’Aymon and Renaud de Montauban.  All these ancient characters were familiar to us, and each of us had his or her favourite hero, but Peter taught us more modern tales which he took from books, but which he remodelled to suit the local taste.

“We had at that time a pretty good library.  When the mission fathers came to Treguier, during the reign of Charles X., the preacher delivered such an eloquent sermon against dangerous books that we all of us burnt any such volumes as we had.  The missionary had told us that it was better to burn too many than too few, and that, for the matter of that, all books might under certain conditions be dangerous.  I did like the rest of the people, but your father put several upon the top of the large wardrobe, saying that they were too handsome to be burnt; they were Don Quixotte, Gil Bias, and the Diable Boiteux.  Peter found them there, and would read them to the common people and to the men employed in the port.  And so the whole of our library disappeared.  In this way he spent the modest little fortune which he possessed, and became a regular vagabond, though in spite of this he remained kind and generous, incapable of harming a worm.”