"It is a good thing you were not shot," said Mamma Littletail to her husband. "I don't know what we would have done if such a dreadful thing had happened. How terrible boys are!"
"I did have a narrow escape," admitted Papa Littletail. "The boy had a sort of square, black box, and I'm sure it was filled with bullets. It had a great, round, shiny eye, that he pointed at me, and, when something clicked, he cried out, 'There, I have him!' But I did not seem to be hurt."
"I know what happened to you," said Uncle Wiggily Longears, and he rubbed his leg that had the worst rheumatism in it. "You had your picture taken; that's all."
"My picture taken?" repeated Papa Littletail, as he scratched his left ear, which he always did when he was puzzled.
"That is it," said the children's uncle. "It happened to me once. The boy had a camera, not a gun. It does not hurt to have your picture taken. It is not like being shot."
"Then I wish all hunters would take pictures of us, instead of shooting at us," said Sammie, and Susie also thought it would be much nicer. And Uncle Wiggily told how lovers of animals often take their pictures, to put in books and magazines, for little boys and girls to look at.
"Well," said Papa Littletail, "I suppose I should be very proud to have my picture taken, but I am not the least bit."
Then he gave Sammie some nice pieces of chocolate-covered turnip, which Mr. Drake had sent to the little boy with the lame leg.
"Do you think I can get out to-morrow?" asked Sammie, after supper. "My leg is quite well."
"I think so," replied his papa. "I will ask Dr. Possum."