Going boldly up to him, he asked,-- "Why don't you like me, and why do you want to kill me?
I never did you any harm, and I should like to be friends, please." The Spaniard looked at him sidelong out of his soft, sleepy eyes.
"Have you understanding ?" he asked presently.

"Have you intelligence to accept the idea of a person of poetry, of soul ?" "I think so!" said John, with some confidence.

"I could try, anyhow." "Look, then!" exclaimed Franci, throwing his arms abroad with a dramatic gesture.
"I am not of nature murderous.

A dove, a lamb at sport in the meadow, such is the heart of Franci.

But--behold me desolated on this infernal schooner.