“Big as ebber so much. Come on, see um, Mass’ George.”
“It’s only some little one, half as big as the one we pulled out of the hole,” said Morgan. “You never want to go on them games now you’ve got that black chap.”
“Oh, I’ll go with you any time, if you’ll come.”
“Too busy, sir, too busy. Going to get a gun?”
“Yes, I’ll go and see. It may be a big one. Colonel Preston’s man told me there are some very big ones up the river on the mud-banks.”
“Yes, sir, but nobody ever sees them.”
“Well, I’ll try this time, and if my father asks for me, say where I’ve gone.”
I heard Morgan mutter something, but paid no heed, knowing that it was something about being careful with the gun, for I was not without my share of conceit and belief in my capacity of taking care of a gun. For my father had rather encouraged me to practise with his fowling-piece, as also with one of the heavy fire-locks we had in the house.
“An emergency might come,” he said; and what with his instructions and those of Morgan, I was, if not a good marksman, as fairly expert as could be expected from a boy of my years.
I soon had the gun from its slings, and, providing myself with powder and ball, rejoined Pomp, whose eyes rolled with excitement at the sight of the piece.