mouth of it, and likely it is
loaded.'

John Fry jumped in a livelier manner than when he was doing day-work;
and I rested the mouth on a cross rack-piece, and felt a warm sort
of surety that I could hit the door over opposite, or, at least, the
cobwall alongside of it, and do no harm in the orchard. But John would
not give me link or fuse, and, on the whole, I was glad of it, though
carrying on as boys do, because I had heard my father say that the
Spanish gun kicked like a horse, and because the load in it came from
his hand, and I did not like to undo it. But I never found it kick very
hard, and firmly set to the shoulder, unless it was badly loaded. In
truth, the thickness of the metal was enough almost to astonish one; and
what our people said about it may have been true enough, although most
of them are such liars--at least, I mean, they make mistakes, as all
mankind must do. Perchance it was no mistake at all to say that this
ancient gun had belonged to a noble Spaniard, the captain of a fine
large ship in the 'Invincible Armada,' which we of England managed to
conquer, with God and the weather helping us, a hundred years ago or
more--I can't say to a month or so.

After a little while, when John had fired away at a rat the charge I
held so sacred, it came to me as a natural thing to practise shooting
with that great gun, instead of John Fry's blunderbuss, which looked
like a bell with a stalk to it. Perhaps for a boy there is nothing
better than a good windmill to shoot at, as I have seen them in flat
countries; but we have no windmills upon the great moorland, yet here
and there a few barn-doors, where shelter is, and a way up the hollows.
And up those hollows you can shoot, with the help of the sides to lead
your aim, and there is a fair chance of hitting the door, if you lay
your cheek to the barrel, and try not to be afraid of it.

Gradually I won such skill, that I sent nearly all the lead gutter from
the north porch of our little church through our best barn-door, a thing
which has often repented me since, especially as churchwarden, and made
me pardon many bad boys; but father was not buried on that side of the
church.

But all this time, while I was roving over the hills or about the farm,
and even listening to John Fry, my mother, being so much older and
feeling trouble longer, went about inside the house, or among the maids
and fowls, not caring to talk to the best of them, except when she broke