f for a fairy tale.
"He come, zat leetle--non! that lit-tel stone." (Mother Marie could often pronounce our English "th" quite well; it was only when she forgot that she slipped back to the soft "z" which I liked much better.) "He come to the shore! It is not as this shore, no! White is the sand, the rocks black, black. All about are nets, very great, and boats. The men are great and brown; and their beards--Holy Cric! their beards are a bush for owls; and striped their shirt, jersey, what you call, and blue trousers. Zey come in from sea, their sails are brown and red; the boats are full wiz fish, that shine like silver; they are the herring, petit Jacques, it is of those that we live a great deal. Down zen come ze women to ze shore and zey--they--are dressed beautiful, ah! so beautiful! A red petticoat,--sometimes a blue, but I love best the red, striped wiz white, and over this the dress turned up, à la blanchisseuse. A handkerchief round their neck, and go