“Oh, it isn’t that,” said Mr. Berkeley, laughing a little. “But I do not want you to take the gun to-morrow, especially on any long expedition.”
“Is anything the matter with it?” asked Phil, his eyes wide open. “Has it cracked anywhere?”
“I don’t know, indeed,” said Mr. Berkeley, “for it is so long since I fired Old Bruden that I can say very little about it. But I want you to understand, my boy,” he said, more seriously, “that you should never use a gun unless you know for yourself that it is in good condition. You ought to be able to tell me whether or not there is anything the matter with Old Bruden.”
“Oh, I always look it over before I take it out,” said Phil. “But I thought you might just have found out something about the gun.”
“Not at all,” said Mr. Berkeley. “As far as I know, Old Bruden is exactly the same clumsy shot-gun that it was when I first bought it. But I don’t want you to go off with it to-morrow on any expedition with Chap Webster. I can’t give you my reasons for this now, but you shall know all about it to-morrow. That satisfies you, don’t it, my boy?”
“Oh, yes,” said Phil, trying to smile a little, though not feeling a bit like it.
His uncle’s discipline, whenever it was exercised at all, was of a military nature. He commanded, and Phil obeyed. The boy had learned to take a pride in that kind of soldierly obedience, about which his uncle talked so often, and it seldom bore very hard upon him.
He and Mr. Berkeley were generally of the same way of thinking, but to-night his disappointment was very hard to bear.
Several days before he had planned this expedition with Chap Webster. They had had high anticipations in regard to it, and Phil did not suppose for a moment that his uncle would offer any objection to their plans. But he had objected, and there was an end to the whole affair.
Philip walked to the front door and gazed out over the moonlighted landscape.