“Yes, after his fashion,” replied Marcus. “His parents spoke broken English, but French was their natural tongue.”
“Does he speak French, too?” inquired Clinton.
“No, he has lost that,” replied Marcus. “When I began to study French at school, I thought he might be of some help to me; but I soon found that his patois, as they call it, was about as bad as the English of a raw Irishman. So we thought he might as well let it go.”
“Does he speak English well now?” asked Whistler.
“O, yes,—very well,” said Marcus.
“What did you think of him, mother? You saw him this summer, didn’t you?” inquired Oscar.
“Yes, I saw him, and liked him very well,” replied Mrs. Preston. “He is a bright, intelligent, wide-awake boy, but a little roguish, I should say.”
“But, mother, he is a good-hearted and well-meaning boy,” said Alice, who also had visited Highburg that summer.
“I have no doubt of it,” added Mrs. Preston; “but for all that he is a little mischievous. I have laughed a good many times over one scrape he got himself into while we were there. There are two buildings on the farm that stand very near together, but do not touch. There is just about enough space between them for a cat to walk through. Well, Ronald took it into his head, one day, to crawl through that narrow space. So he squeezed himself in, and pretty soon we heard a great outcry in that direction. We all ran out to see what had happened, and there we found the young rogue, wedged in so closely between the two buildings that he couldn’t move an inch, and almost frightened out of his wits. Marcus got ropes and pries, and we worked over him about an hour before we got him out; and then he had to leave a good part of his clothing behind him. I shall never forget how cheap he looked when he came out of that place—his jacket in tatters, his clothes covered with mould and dirt, and his face as red as a beet.”
“He has a faculty for getting himself into such scrapes,” said Marcus. “Last spring I had some business at Montpelier, and I took him with me. The man I wanted to see was an officer of some kind,—a sheriff, I believe. He wasn’t in when I called at his place of business, and so I took a newspaper, and sat down to wait. I didn’t notice what Ronald was about; but after a few minutes he came to me, with one of his droll looks, and carrying his hands in a singular manner. He was handcuffed. I at first thought it was a good joke, and laughed at it; but I soon found it was a sorry joke to him, for he couldn’t get the handcuffs off. They had spring locks, and fastened themselves, but could not be opened without a key. Though they were too large for his wrists, I found I could not slip them off without endangering his hands. Pretty soon a man came in, and he told me that Ronald would have to wear the handcuffs until I could find their owner, if it was for a week, as no key would unlock them but the one that was made for them. This rather put a damper on Ronald; but, fortunately, the man came in after a little while. Then I thought I would carry the joke a little farther; so I pointed to Ronald, and told him I had got a prisoner for him. He wanted to know what he had done, and I told him he had put his hands where he ought not to. ‘Ah, that’s bad!—that’s bad!’ said he; ‘how much did he steal?’—‘I didn’t steal anything,’ said Ronald; ‘but I saw these things, and I thought I’d try them on, and now I can’t get them off.’ The man saw through the joke, then, and he got the key and took off the handcuffs.”