"And Bradley?" asked Ned.

"That's another point! He watches the kid every second of the time,
and when the boy speaks a word of French he looks daggers at him! I
reckon the son of Mike II. wouldn't be talking French! Nor he
wouldn't be here with a chaperon from Washington. We have found the
prince, all right, and I'm sorry for it! It makes our work too easy!"

"Don't crow until you're out of the woods!" laughed Ned. "There may
be a few adventures in store for us yet! So this seven-year-old boy
talks French, does he?"

"You bet he does! Like a native!"

"Where are they now--Bradley and the boy, I mean?"

"Down by the mules! The boy, who is constantly called Mike--
ostentatiously called by that name--wants to ride Uncle Ike! Fat time
hell have if he gets aboard of that argumentative brute!"

"Are they going to help eat the chicken?" asked Ned.

"Sure! I told them to stick around until I got the most beautiful
chicken pie built they ever touched tongue to. They're going to stay.
You go and talk with them while I make the pie. It is going to be a
corker--melt in your mouth, make you dream of the old red barn down
on the farm!"

"Ever make a chicken pie?" asked Ned.