“Yes, uncle; isn’t it a beauty?” I cried excitedly.
“Well, yes, my boy,” he said; “but, but—how about your aunt? Suppose you were to break a window with that, eh? What should we do?”
“But I won’t shoot in that direction, uncle,” I promised.
“Or shoot out Jane’s or Cook’s eye? It would be very dreadful, my boy.”
“Oh, yes, uncle,” I cried; “but I will be so careful, and perhaps I may shoot some of the birds that steal the cherries.”
“Ah! yes, my boy, so you might,” he said rubbing his hands softly. “My best bigarreaus. Those birds are a terrible nuisance, Nat, that they are. You’ll be careful, though?”
“Yes, I’ll be careful, uncle,” I said; and he went away nodding and smiling, while I went off to Clapham Common to try the bow and the short thick arrows supplied therewith.
It was glorious. At every twang away flew the arrow or the piece of tobacco-pipe I used instead; and at last, after losing one shaft in the short turf, I found myself beside the big pond over on the far side, one that had the reputation of being full of great carp and eels.
My idea here was to shoot the fish, but as there were none visible to shoot I had to be content with trying to hit the gliding spiders on the surface with pieces of tobacco-pipe as long as they lasted, for I dared not waste another arrow, and then with my mind full of adventures in foreign countries I walked home.
The next afternoon my aunt went out, and I took the bow down the garden, leaving my uncle enjoying his pipe. I had been very busy all that morning, it being holiday time, in making some fresh arrows for a purpose I had in view, and, so as to be humane, I had made the heads by cutting off the tops of some old kid gloves, ramming their finger-ends full of cotton-wool, and then tying them to the thin deal arrows, so that each bolt had a head like a little soft leather ball.