set up as a teacher of
languages, and had nearly forgotten even his own. I did get sold in the
most ridiculous way over father's telegram that announced his coming!
But that's all over--they have about forgotten it.

He was real fun after we got acquainted; he didn't seem to know anything
about base-ball, and couldn't catch a fly worth a cent! guess it is too
hot in Havana to play ball. He couldn't fish either, but it wasn't the
season for that, so we didn't care. But he could ride! He mounted the
colt one day, bareback, and went around the lot five times before he
fell off, and not one of us boys could stay on a rod. We respected him
some after that.

But he was queer! The first thing mother did was to buy him a lung
protector, as he wasn't acclimated yet, she said. Jack, the
six-year-old, got hold of it and put it on outside of his frock, and
then came galloping around with it on in that way. Well, Ramon came down
to breakfast the next morning with that protector on just as Jack had
fixed it! Then he wanted some "john-bread." Where he got it, I don't
know, but what he meant was "johnny-cake."

I heard him reciting some poetry to Mollie one night--that was father's
way in teaching languages, to make us commit poetry and recite to each
other--and this was what he made of it!

Zoze zevening bells,
Zoze zevening bells!
How may-nay tales zheir moozic tells
Of yuz an' home an' zat sweet time
W'en first I heard zheir queezing chime.

"Their what, Ramon?" cried Mollie.

"Zheir queezing chime," he repeated innocently, staring at her.

"Soothing, Ramon, soothing!" He laughed away too, like a good fellow,
and didn't get mad in the least. I suppose our Spanish was as funny to
him. He never laughed at us, though; I presume he was too polite.

But he just got into the ways of us boys about as quickly as any new boy
that ever came to the Highland School, and before he had been there two
weeks he was in a scrape!

It's dreadfully dull to be the teacher's son. You have to do just _so_,
you know, "to set a good example," and it isn't any fun. Father never
asked me to tell what was going on, no matter what was up; but he put me
"upon honor" not to go in myself, so of course I had to keep out. But
the fellows understood, and used to tell me all about it afterward, and
as somehow they always came to grief, I felt a little more contented
than I might have done.

One night we _could_ not get to sleep.