“Fixin' fur a hunt, Dick? Thar's a power o' pa'tridges in the sage field down the hollar. A rifle ain't as good fur that sort o' game as a shotgun; suppose you step over an' ax Hanson to loan you his'n?”
“I jest 'lowed I'd shine this un up a bit bein' as it's Sunday an' I hate to be idle,” he answered, evasively, as he seated himself at the wide fireplace with a pan of grease and a piece of cloth and rubbed his gun barrel until it fairly shone in the firelight. The next morning he threw it over his shoulder and, taking an axe in his hand, he started toward the woods.
“Didn't know but I mought find a bee tree somers,” he said sheepishly, as he saw his mother looking wonderingly at the axe. “Not likely, but I mought, thar's no tellin', though the darn little varmints do keep powerful close hid this time o' year.”
He went over the hills and through the tangled woods until he came to a secluded old field. He singled out a walnut tree near its centre, and going to it he cut a square white spot in the bark with his axe. It is needless to detail all that took place there that day, or on other days following it. For the first week the earnest fellow would return from this spot each afternoon with a very despondent look upon him. As time passed, however, and his visits to the riddled tree grew more frequent his face began to grow brighter.
Once his mother came suddenly upon him as he stood in the cottage before the open door with his rifle placed in position for firing. He lowered his gun with a deep blush.
“I 'us jest a tryin' to see how long I could keep the sight on that shiny spot out thar in the field without flinchin'. Blame me, ef you hadn't come in I believe I could a helt her thar tell it thundered.”
“Dick,” said the old woman, with a deep breath, “what on earth has got in you here lately? Are you gwine plump stark crazy 'bout that old gun? You never tuk on that way before.”
“I've jest found out I'm purty good on a shot, that's all,” he replied, evasively.
“Well,” said she, “as fur as that's concerned, in old times our stock was reckoned to be the best marksmen in our section. You ort to be; yore narrer 'twixt the eyes, an' that's a shore sign.”
Dick caught a glimpse of Melissa now and then, and managed to exchange a few words with her occasionally, the nature of which we will not disclose. It may be said, however, that she was always in good spirits, which puzzled her father considerably, for he was at a loss to see why she should be so when Dick had not visited her since the night of the corn shucking. Moreover, she continually roused her father's anger by speaking frequently of the great honor that belonged to Farmer Lawson for so often Winning the prizes in the shooting matches.