"I know there are heaps of rabbits," Ruth said. "I counted more than a dozen from my bedroom window, yesterday."
"Rabbits are not game—they are vermin," her brother informed her. He never lost an opportunity of correcting her if he possibly could. "You don't believe it? You thought only rats and mice were vermin? Oh, you little ignoramus! If you won't take my word for it, go and ask mother or grandfather!"
"I will," Ruth cried, utterly unbelieving, and she rushed from the room.
"Now she's gone, we can talk in peace," Lionel said to his cousin confidentially. "I mean to fire off that old blunderbuss as soon as ever I get an opportunity."
"Wouldn't it be rather dangerous?" asked Dick, who knew enough about guns to make him cautious with them. "We ought to know how much powder and shot to use—grandfather didn't say. I wonder if the blunderbuss kicks?"
"I never heard of a gun kicking!" Lionel exclaimed, for he really knew much less about fire-arms than the younger boy.
Dick explained what he meant. Lionel had not known before that some guns recoiled after being fired. He regretted having admitted his ignorance, but he said confidently,—
"Oh, we'll be careful! If it kicks we can tie it to a tree and fire it off like a cannon; we could make a fuse of powder reaching to the lock, set fire to it, and we should have time to go a good distance away before the gun went off."
"So we should," Dick agreed. "But don't you think we'd better ask grandfather to lend us the blunderbuss?"
"No, no; certainly not," Lionel replied hastily. "If we do that, Ruth is sure to hear what we're up to, and she'll come bothering and wanting to interfere!'