CHAPTER XIII
DOROTHY MAKES A DISCOVERY
The boys had a dog—Old Brindle he was called—and he had just enough bull in him to make him a faithful friend and a good watchdog. But, of course, he was of little use in the woods, and Joe and Roger were always begging for a hunting dog.
“We’ve got these now—pump-rifles,” Roger said eagerly to Dorothy, whom he thought able to accomplish any wonder she might undertake. “They shoot fifty shots. Think of it, Sister! That’s a lot. And father taught us how to use ’em long ago, of course. Just think! I could stand right up and shoot down fifty people—just like that.”
“Oh, Roger!” gasped Dorothy. “Don’t say such awful things.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t, you know; but I could,” the boy said confidently. “Now the law is off rabbits and partridges and quail. Joe and I saw lots of ’em when we went after those nuts the other day. If we’d had our guns along maybe we might have shot some.”
“The poor little birds and the cunning little rabbits,” said Dorothy with a sigh.
“Oh! they’re not like our pigeons and our tame rabbits. These are real wild. If some of ’em weren’t shot they’d breed an’ breed till there were so many that maybe it wouldn’t be safe to go out into the woods,” declared the small boy, whose imagination never needed spurring.
Joe came up on the porch in time to hear this last. He chuckled, but Dorothy was saying to Roger:
“How foolish, dear! Who ever heard of a rabbit being cross?”
“Just the same I guess you’ve heard of being as ‘mad as a March hare,’ haven’t you?” demanded Joe, his eyes twinkling. “And we do want a bird dog, Sis, to jump a rabbit for us, or to flush a flock of quail.”