ar of your legs, governor, for he'll fire high. The shoulder's
his spot; you may always tell from a man's eye where he'll fix the
sight of a pistol. Webb always looks up. If his tool lifts a little,
he'll fire over you."

"Yes, he might," said Fred; "or take you on the head--which wouldn't
be so pleasant. I'm not particular--but I'd better run my chance
myself with a chap that fired low."

"There you're out," answered the brother. "The low shot's the
death-shot. Why man, if you did catch a ball in the head, you'd get
over it--if it was in the mouth, or cheek, or neck, or anywhere but
the temple; but your body's all over tender bits. May heaven always
keep lead out of my bowels--I'd sooner have it in my brains."

The father fidgetted about very uneasily whilst enduring these
pleasant remarks from his affectionate children, which, it is
needless to say, they made for his particular comfort and amusement
at the present moment. At last he lost his temper, and exclaimed--

"D---- your brains, you fool--I don't believe you've got any! what's
the use of the two of you going on that way--you that were never out
in your life. I tell you when a man's standing to be fired at, he
doesn't know, nine times in ten, whether he fires high or low. Who'll
I get to go out with me?"

"Yes, and take your message," said Fred; "you've a deal to do yet
before you're snug home again."

"Well, who'll I get to go to him?"

"Why wouldn't I do?" suggested George. George, at any rate, had the
merit of being a good son.

"Nonsense," said Fred; "if the governor got shot you'd be considered
a brute if you were cool; and a man should be cool then."

"Cool," said George; "I'd be as cool as a cucumber."

"Nonsense," said the father; "of course I couldn't go out with my own
son; there's Theobald French; I went out with his cousin just after
Waterloo."

"He can't show--he's on his keeping. He'd be nabbed before he was on
the ground."

"Then I'll have Larkin; I've known him since I was a boy."

"Larkin's too old for that game now; he'd be letting them have Webb
up with his back to the sun."

"Murphy, of Mullough; he's used to these things--I'll send over to
him."

"Murphy's up to snuff; but since the affair of the bill he forged Dan
Connolly's name to, he's queerly thought of. It wouldn't do at all,
governor, to send anyone that Webb's friend could refuse to meet."

"I'll tell you, father, who'd be proud of the job--and he's quite a
gent