e; "and then you
can get a rest over that little fellow there."

He stepped back.

"Now let's see you open her," he said, handing over the rifle.

Bobby had long since acquired a theoretical familiarity with the
mechanism. He cocked the arm and pulled back the breech block, thus
opening the breech with its broken effect due to the springing of the
ejector.

"That's all right," approved Mr. Kincaid, pausing in the filling of his
pipe, "but you have the muzzle pointing straight at Duke."

"It isn't loaded," objected Bobby.

"A man who knows how to handle a gun," said Mr. Kincaid emphasizing his
words impressively with the stem of his pipe, "never in any
circumstances lets the muzzle of his gun, loaded or unloaded, for even a
single instant, point toward any living creature he does not wish to
kill. Remember that, Bobby. When you've learned that, you've learned a
good half of gun-handling."

"Yes, sir," said Bobby.

"Keep the muzzle up," finished Mr. Kincaid, "and then you're all right."

He led the way to the smaller stump; and nonchalantly, as though it were
not one of the most wonderful affairs in the world to own such a thing,
produced a little square red box containing the cartridges. This he
opened. Bobby gazed with the keenest pleasure on the orderly rows of
alternate copper and lead dots.

"Now," said Mr. Kincaid, "kneel down behind the stump." He rested the
rifle across it. "You know how to sight, don't you? I thought likely.
When you pull the trigger, try to pull it steadily, without jerking. Get
in here, Duke!"

Bobby knelt, and assumed a position to shoot. To his surprise he found
that his heart was beating very fast, and that his breath came and went
as rapidly as though he had just climbed a hill. He tried desperately to
hold the front sight in the notch of the hind sight, and both on the
black bull's eye. It was surprisingly difficult, considering the
simplicity of the theory. Finally he pulled the trigger for the first
time in his life.

"Snap!" said the rifle.

"Now let's see where you hit!" suggested Mr. Kincaid.

Bobby started up eagerly; remembered; and with great care laid the
Flobert, muzzle up, against the stump.

"That's right," approved Mr. Kincaid.

The bullet had penetrated the exact centre of the bull's eye!

"My!" cried Bobby delighted. "That was a pretty good shot, wasn't it,
Mr. Kincaid? That was doing pretty well for the first time, wasn't it?"

But Mr. Kincaid was li