“What is he doing, Marsh?” asked Doctor John-Luis the following morning, when he took the coffee that Marshall had brought to him in bed.
“Who dat, sah?”
“Why, the boy Mamouche, of course. What is he doing?”
Marshall laughed.
“He kneelin’ down dah on de flo’. He keep on sayin’, ‘Hail, Mary, full o’ grace, de Lord is wid dee. Hail, Mary, full o’ grace’—t’ree, fo’ times, sah. I tell ’im, ‘W’at you sayin’ yo’ prayer dat away, boy?’ He ’low dat w’at his gran’ma lam ’im, ter keep outen mischief. W’en de devil say, ‘Take dat gate offen de hinge; do dis; do dat,’ he gwine say t’ree Hail Mary, an’ de devil gwine tu’n tail an’ run.”
“Yes, yes,” laughed Doctor John-Luis. “That’s Stéphanie all over.”
“An’ I tell ’im: See heah, boy, you drap a couple o’ dem Hail Mary, an’ quit studyin’ ’bout de devil, an’ sot yo’se’f down ter wuk. Dat the oniest way to keep outen mischief.”
“What business is it of yours to interfere?” broke in Doctor John-Luis, irritably. “Let the boy do as his grandmother instructed him.”
“I ain’t desputin’, sah,” apologized Marshall.
“But you know, Marsh,” continued the doctor, recovering his usual amiability. “I think we’ll be able to do something with the boy. I’m pretty sure of it. For, you see, he has his grandmother’s eyes; and his grandmother was a very intelligent woman; a clever woman, Marsh. Her one great mistake was when she married Théodule Peloté.”