At their approach the laughter and the dance ceased for a time, and the company welcomed the good priest with smiles and kindly words. The boys also came in for a share of the hospitable welcome, and as soon as the priest had explained who they were, they were at once received as most welcome and honored guests. Unfortunately the boys could not speak a word of French, and the people could not speak a word of English, so that there was not that freedom of intercourse between the two parties which might have been desirable; but the priest did much to bring about this interchange of feelings by acting as interpreter, and the boys also by gestures or by smiles endeavored, not without some success, to make known their feelings for themselves. The boys soon distributed themselves about at random, and the good people never ceased to pay delicate little attentions to them by offering them coffee or cakes, by uttering a few words in the hope that they might be understood, or, if words were wanting, they took refuge in smiles. But words were not wanting, and different members of the party made violent efforts to break through the restraints which a foreign language imposed, and express their feelings more directly. Thus Captain Corbet, who had accompanied the party, finding himself hospitably entertained by a smiling old Frenchman, endeavored to make known the joy of his heart. “Coffee,” said he, tapping his cup and grinning. “Oui, oui,” said the Frenchman. “Coffee dood--pooty--nicey--O, velly nicey picey.” Captain Corbet evidently was falling back upon his “baby talk,” under the impression that it would be more intelligible to a foreigner. But this foreigner did not quite understand him. He only shrugged his shoulders. “Cooky--cakey--nicey,” continued Captain Corbet, in, an amiable tone. “All dood--all nicey--velly.” And he again paused and smiled. “Plait-il?” said the Frenchman, politely. “Plate? O, no, no plate for me, an thank you kindly all the same.” The Frenchman looked at him in a bewildered way, but still smiled. “Vouley vous du pain?” he asked, at length. “Pan?” said Captain Corbet; “pan? Course not. What’d I do with a pan?--but thankin you all the same, course.” The Frenchman relapsed into silence. “It was a pooty ’itile tottage,” said Captain Corbet, resuming his baby talk, “an a pooty tompany, an it was all dood--pooty--nicey.” But the Frenchman didn’t understand a word, and so at length Captain Corbet, with a sigh, gave up the attempt. Meanwhile the others were making similar endeavors. Tom had got hold of a French boy about his own age. “Parley vous Français,” said Tom, solemnly. “Oui,” said the French boy. “Oui, moosoo,” said Tom. The French boy smiled. “Merci, madame,” continued Tom, boldly. The boy stared. “Nong--tong--paw,” proceeded Tom, in a business-like manner. Of this the boy could evidently make nothing.