"I don't like that boy," said James Collins. "He puts on too many airs for a poor boy. I suppose he will be crowing over his successful shot."
"Very likely," chimed in his companion, who made it a point to flatter James by agreeing with everything he said.
"It was only a lucky accident," continued James. "He couldn't do it again."
"Of course not. I don't think he is really as good a shot as you or I."
"You can hardly class yourself with me," said James egotistically. "However. I agree with you that he is inferior to you."
"Quick, James!" said Tom Wyman. "There is a squirrel—shoot! I'll give you the first chance."
James pulled the trigger, but the squirrel was not destined to fall by his hands. He scampered away, looking back saucily at the baffled young hunter.
"Was ever anything more provoking?" asked James in evident chagrin.
Later in the afternoon when the two boys were slowly strolling homewards, they saw a strange man issuing from the woods. It was Lyman Taylor, returned from his only partially successful visit to his uncle.
He waited till the boys came up.