"To be sure," rejoined Mr. Gudgeon; "though for myself I find brandy the best cure for the flutters. You were taking a peep through my spy-glass, sir?" "Yes: a good glass." "Not bad, sir, not bad. And a clear day. But not much to see, sir, to-day." "No. There’s a lugger in the offing; and French by the cut of her." "Surely not, sir," cried Mr. Gudgeon, taking up the glass. "Dear, dear! I’m all in a flutter again, sir. A French lugger, sir! ’Tis surely too near our coast to be safe." "Yes, and I hope the _Pandora_ will catch her; she’s sailing this afternoon." "To be sure, sir. The impudence of these Frenchmen! But I don’t think she’s French, after all; there’s a lugger much like her down in Luscombe yonder. And you’re an officer of the _Fury_? I’ve seen the _Fury_ more than once, sir. She cruised about a good deal last winter on the lookout for smugglers. But she’s laid up at Wynport now, I’m told." "Yes, or I shouldn’t be here." "Ah! I wondered, now, what brought you to this quiet little place. Maybe you have friends in the neighborhood, sir?" "I’m going to see my cousin, Mr. Bastable. I dare say you know him?" "Know the squire! To be sure: a customer of mine. Ah! as I was saying, there’s a good deal of smuggling on this part of the coast: so the common talk is, sir. Luscombe yonder is suspected, so ’tis said. Mr. Goodman, the new riding-officer, has his eye on the village. But up here on the cliff I don’t hear much of what goes on. I keep myself to myself, sir—lead a quiet life; anything out of the way puts me in a flutter at once. And when will the _Fury_ be ready for sea?" "In four or five days." "To be sure! And you are Mr. Bastable’s cousin! Well, now, to be sure! ’Tis early days for the smugglers, sir: they don’t begin, so I’ve heard, much before October; their work needs dark nights; but I hope you’ll put ’em down, sir, I do. They’re getting the neighborhood a bad name." "Well, Mr. Gudgeon, we’ll do our best to polish it up for you. Now, d’you think those things of mine are dry? I am getting hungry, and my cousin, I hope, keeps a good table." "To be sure, sir; a fine man, Mr. Bastable. Though I’m only a poor working farmer, and keep myself to myself, I hope I may count Mr. Bastable a friend. You will give him my respects, Mr.—?" "Jack Hardy: that’s my name. Thanks for the cider, Mr. Gudgeon: mighty good stuff. Good-by. I hope you’ll be none the worse for your sousing." "Thank you, sir. I hope not. I shall take no harm unless I get a return of the flutters." He went with Jack to the door. "That is your way, sir," he said, pointing to a path that ran irregularly across the fields to the right. "The coast winds a good deal here; you would not think it, but the path will bring you near to the sea. Bastable Grange is on the cliff, sir, the other side of Luscombe, a fine airy position, though too near the coast if the French should land, _I_ say."