“Now isn’t that a fine go?” he exclaimed disgustedly. “I set it down while I went forward to see how bad that feller was hit, and plumb forgot.”
“O dad, here’s your gun!”
It was the son Jim who called this greeting as he straddled forward with the heavy piece resting on his shoulder. All stared in amazement, and the father in his confusion was imprudent enough to ask:
“Where did you get it?”
“I seen that feller that took it away from you and made you dance all the way across the field. He throwed it down and went into the woods. When I seen you hopping and dancing and kicking up your heels I nearly died a-larfing. But I didn’t forgit the gun, and run along the edge of the woods and picked it up. Gee! it’s heavy! But, dad, I didn’t know you could dance like that. Say——”
“You young rascal, didn’t I tell you to stay home? I’ll larn you!”
The parent made a dive at his son, who, with the gun still over his shoulder, scooted across the yard and over the fence, with his irate father in fierce pursuit.