The boy did not smile. He ran his hand in his pocket and handed Jack a thin gold ring, worn almost to a wire; but Jack paled, and his hand shook when he took it, for he recognized the little ring he himself had given Margaret Adams years ago.
“It's my mother's,” said the boy, “and some man gave it to her once—long ago—for she is foolish about it. Now, of late, I think I have found out who that man was, and I hate him as I do hell itself. I am determined she shall never see it again. So take it, or I'll give it to somebody else.”
“If you feel that way about it, little 'un,” said Jack kindly, “I'll keep it for you,” and he put the precious relic in his pocket.
“Now, look here, lad,” he said, changing the subject, “but do you know you've got an' oncommon ac'rate gun in this old weepon?”
The boy smiled—interested.
“It's the salt of the earth,” said Jack, “an' I'll bet it's stood 'twixt many a gentleman and death. Can you shoot true, little 'un?”
“Only fairly—can you?”
“Some has been kind enough to give me that character”—he said promptly. “Want me to give you a few lessons?”
The boy warmed to him at once. Jack took him behind the shop, tied a twine string between two trees and having loaded the old pistol with cap and powder and ball, he stepped off thirty paces and shot the string in twain.
“Good,” said the boy smiling, and Jack handed him the pistol with a boyish flush of pride in his own face.