“Vincent, my dear!” cried his mother, “how absurd! You would look nice the next time Michael Ladelle came for you.”
“He’d do the same, mother. He always imitates me.”
“Yes; you’re a nice pair,” said the Doctor. “I never saw such young savages.”
“You’re too hard upon them, Robert,” said Mrs Burnet, laying her arm on her son’s shoulder. “It does not matter out in this wild place, where there is no one to see him but the fishing people; and see what a healthy, natural life it is for them.”
“Healthy! natural!” cried the Doctor sharply. “So you want to see him grow up into a sort of Peter the Wild Boy, madam?”
“No,” said Mrs Burnet, exchanging an affectionate glance with her sun-tanned son. “Peter the Wild Boy did not have a college tutor to teach him the classics, did he, Vince?”
“No, mother; he must have been a lucky fellow,” said the boy, laughing.
“For shame, Vincent!” cried Mrs Burnet, shaking her head at the boy reprovingly. “You do not mean that.”
“I believe he does,” said the Doctor angrily. “I won’t have any more of it. He neglects his studies shamefully.”
“No, no, indeed, dear,” cried Mrs Burnet. “You don’t know how hard he works.”