"If I had had anything to do with the weather we would never have had this devil of a rain which has turned all the roads into bogholes."
Perceiving that José shook his head whenever he heard this remark, he asked him what he meant.
"Oh, Master Jules," said José, "I am only a poor ignorant fellow, but I can't help thinking that if you had charge of the weather we shouldn't be much better off. Take the case of what happened to Davy Larouche."
"When we get across this cursed boghole," said Jules, "you shall tell us the story of Davy Larouche. Oh, that I had the legs of a heron, like this haughty Scotchman who strides before us whistling a pibroch just fit for these roads."
"What would you give," said Archie, "to exchange your diminutive French legs for those of the haughty Highlander?"
"Keep your legs," retorted Jules, "for when you have to run away from the enemy."
Once well across the meadow, the young men asked José for his story.
"I must tell you," said the latter, "that a fellow named Davy Larouche once lived in the parish of St. Roch. He was a good enough provider, neither very rich nor very poor. I used to think that the dear fellow was not quite sharp enough, which prevented him making great headway in the world.
"It happened that one morning Davy got up earlier than usual, put through his chores in the stable, returned to the house, fixed his whiskers as if it were Sunday, and got himself up in his best clothes.
"'Where are you going, my good man?' asked his wife. 'What a swell you are! Are you going to see the girls?'