“Oh!” uttered Ned, a little taken aback, and becoming conscious of his bump.
“Next time you’ll hold the gun tighter against your shoulder—and be more careful in that other respect, too,” said Mr. Russell, simply.
They stayed on the flats for an hour and a half, and used up all of Mr. Russell’s cartridges; and when Ned went home he fairly was bursting with information. He carried with him that riddled tin can, and with no small degree of pride showed it to the family and to the boys of the neighborhood. He had hit other cans, during the lesson, but this was the result of his first shot!
Bob was waiting for him, at the front gate. He greeted his master with a sheepish, apologetic manner, as though to say:
“I didn’t mean to act so silly; but you know, I can’t help it.”
“That’s all right, Bob,” comforted Ned. “I understand. You shan’t go again.”
Whereupon Bob whined wistfully, as much as to say:
“Well, I don’t think you ought to go, then, either.”
Bob, you see, was just a mite selfish in regard to Ned.