“I should hope not,—nor Oscar, either,” replied Marcus; “but I must tell you what I told Ronald. He was quite tickled with the idea of my being teacher; but I told him that if I showed him any partiality, it would only be in looking after him a little sharper than I did after the other scholars.”
“Then Ronald is going to the academy this winter?” inquired Mrs. Preston.
“Yes, ma’am; he is to commence with the next term,” replied Marcus.
“Ronald,—that’s a queer name!—who is he?” inquired Whistler.
“He’s a little fellow that has lived with us several years,” replied Marcus. “He is a French Canadian by birth; but his parents are dead, and mother took him out of pity, and has brought him up, so far.”
“He thinks a great deal of you, doesn’t he?” inquired Ralph.
“He appears to,” replied Marcus.
“He certainly ought to; your cousin Marcus has been almost a father to him,” said Mrs. Preston. “He takes nearly the whole care of him, and has made him what he is; and I suppose Ronald feels towards him very much as he would towards a father.”
“You give me more credit than belongs to me,” interposed Marcus. “If it hadn’t been for mother and Aunt Fanny, I couldn’t have done anything with him. He was the queerest little fellow you ever saw when he first came to us. He was full of all sorts of pranks, and was as wild and untrained as an Indian child.”
“Did he talk English?” inquired George.