“I know it, Dick, I know it,” said Uncle Joe softly; “and I can see that with you he will learn a very, very great deal. Nat, my boy, you are very young yet, but you are a stout, strong boy, and your heart is in that sort of thing, I know.”
“And may I go—will you take me, Uncle Dick? Say you will.”
“Indeed I will, my boy,” he cried, shaking my hand warmly; “only you will have to run the same risks as I do, and stick to me through thick and thin.”
“But I don’t think it would be possible for him to be ready,” said my aunt, who evidently now began to repent of her ready consent.
“Nonsense, Sophy!” cried Uncle Dick; “I’ll get him ready in time, with a far better outfit than you could contrive. Leave that to me. Well, Nat, it is to be then. Only think first; we may be away for years.”
“I don’t mind, sir; only I should like to be able to write to Uncle Joe,” I said.
“You may write to him once a week, Nat, and tell him all our adventures, my boy; but I don’t promise you that you will always be able to post your letters. There, time is short. You shall go out with me this morning.”
“Where to, uncle?” I said.
“To the gunsmith’s, my boy. I shall have to fit you up with a light rifle and double shot-gun; and what is more, teach you how to use them. Get your cap and let’s go: there is no time to spare.”