I went around the barn, and Gramp was just going up the steps to the house. He had been to Fairport where the big store is, and he had bought a lot of things that he was carrying in his arms. At first I was glad because he had bought something that was for me too.
But then I saw some bad pictures mixed with the happy ones—of Gramp breaking a window in Mr. Van's store when it was dark and going in and taking something from underneath the brown sugar box.
"You told me you wouldn't take Mr. Van's money. And you did!" I said.
"Ssh," Gramp said. He put his packages on the porch and sat down and took me on his lap. He took a deep breath. "Remember what I told you about imagination, Chum?" he asked me. "So you know you're not supposed to believe all the pictures you see. Now you're Gramp's Chum. And I want you to promise me again not to tell anyone but me what you see, and I'll tell you if the pictures are real or not. Promise?"
I promised, and Gramp opened one of the packages. He took out two new pistols and a belt with double holsters to carry them in. He bent over and buckled them on me.
"You look just like Hoppy now," he said.
I gave him a big kiss, and ran back of the barn to shoot robbers.
In the afternoon Gramp was playing he was a bad Indian and trying to scalp me when a strange car drove in our yard.
Mr. Van and two men with badges got out.