"' And she made us call it 'mosser' all the rest of the day,
too," I ended triumphantly.
"Why, o' course that ain't right; 'mosser' ain't it!" volunteered one of
the hired men, who had lingered to hear the discussion. "I've heerd that
word a thousan' times; right way seems like 'M'shoo.' Shucks! Can't get my
tongue 'round it, nohow."
"Yes, I know", said Pa "you go call Frenchy."
Joe Lavigne, summoned from the barn, came, followed by all the rest,
curious to see what was wanted--a rough, kindly gang of men in blue
overalls and big, clumping boots.
"Joe," said Pa; "you say 'Mister' in French."
"Ya-a-as, M'sieu' Weensheep, so I call heem: M'sieu'; M'sieu'; M'sieu'."
Very carefully Frenchy pronounced the clipped word.
"That's all, Joe; I s'pose book French is a good deal diff'rent from
ord'nary Kanuck. 'Mosseer' is right anyhow, for the book says so. Teacher
had ought to know enough to go by the book, I sh' think."
"Tain't her fault, Pa," I said, relenting. "She never went to any good
school. I want to go somewhere where the teachers know a real lot; not
just a little bit more than me. I want to go"--I paused to gain courage--
"I want to go to the University, like--like Mr.
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