“What if I am,” replied the old man testily, “I’m not going to shoot all over the country. His father would hold the bag in his hand, as he has done smaller things, a hundred times.”
“I know it, grandpa; but you must remember that you are an old man now, and of course can’t see as well as you could once, and your hand cannot be so steady.”
“I can see well enough to thread your needle when you can’t, and well enough to hit a squirrel’s eye within thirty yards.”
The old gentleman fired, the bag fell over and Bertie cried,—
“There’s a hole right in the middle of the cross, as you said, grandpa.”
“Indeed! I wonder at that. Wonder the bullet hadn’t gone up into the air, or into the ground, or killed your father or Peter in the barn, or into the pasture and killed one of the horses,” replied he, entirely unable to digest the suspicion that his powers were waning, implied in the caution of Mrs. Whitman to Bertie.
The bullet was found in the wool, having penetrated a few inches. After hammering the bullet into the shape of a plummet on the andiron, he gave it to Bertie, saying,—
“When you are done with it give it back to me, and I will run it into a bullet again, for I want to kill that owl. It’s all I’m fit for now; to kill vermin, some people think. I expect I’m in the way.”
Mrs. Whitman never noticed any little testiness that occasionally clouded the spirit of the genial sunny-tempered old gentleman, who, though he would sometimes say that he was growing old, could seldom without disturbance brook the remark or even suspicion, from another.
He had been celebrated for strength and activity, and with the exception of a stiffness in his legs, the result of toils and exposures in early life, was still strong. It was surprising to see what a pile of wood he would cut in an hour. He used no glasses, had every tooth he ever possessed, his mind was clear, his judgment good, his health firm, and his disposition such as made every one happy around him. Any labor that admitted of standing still or moving slowly he could still perform; could reap, hoe, chop wood, took entire charge of the garden, and could work at a bench with tools, and nothing seemed to disturb the serenity of his mind, save the suspicion that he was superannuated. No one could equal him in putting an edge on a scythe, and he ground all the scythes in haying time, the grindstone being placed under the old chestnut, and fitted with a seat for his convenience.