“Does he? I’m jolly glad. I know I did a lot of idiotic things at first. I nearly hit him the second night—did he tell you, Mother?”
Mrs. Lane repressed a shudder. But her voice was quite calm.
“No, he didn’t tell me, son. I don’t suppose he would tell me that sort of thing. Was it—very near?”
“Oh, well, I hit a tree about ten yards from him. But that wasn’t the point—it might just as well have been Father, because I didn’t know that the blessed thing was going off. I thought it wasn’t cocked.” He looked at her ruefully, and found her smile very comforting.
“As you didn’t hit him, it was probably a very good thing it happened,” she said. “It would teach you a good deal, Barry-boy.”
“That’s just what it did,” he said. “I thought I knew all about it before, and it just showed me what an utter fool I was. Mother, I don’t think I’d ever be that particular kind of idiot again. I just shook for about ten minutes. And he was such a brick about it. I was scared he’d say I mustn’t use a gun again, but instead he said that was just the time to go on using it—so that I wouldn’t be likely to forget. I guess I won’t, either!”—and Barry set his jaw in a hard line.
“Your grandfather believed in that,” said Mrs. Lane. “When I was quite small—yes, I know I am small now, but I was still smaller then!—I used to ride a great grey mare on which I felt rather like a pea sitting on an elephant. I fell off her one day, and was sure I was killed—I believed grandfather thought so, too, until he had picked me up and discovered nothing worse than bruises. Then he caught the grey mare and put me on her at once, while I howled vigorous protests, assuring him that I would fall off again at once. But he only laughed, and said, ‘Not you, Milly!’ ”
“And did you?” Barry asked, much interested.
“Certainly not. I stuck on, and we galloped home in triumph. And I rode that mare for years, and never had another toss: more than that, I was never afraid again. And you never will be in doubt again as to whether your gun is cocked or not, Barry—you’ll know it is not cocked unless you want to fire!”
“I believe I won’t,” he said. “But I won’t be cock-sure, Mother! Gracious, wasn’t that brilliant, for me, and I never meant to say it, either! I think I’d better go fishing, or I may make more puns.” He took off his cap as she blew him a kiss, and went striding down the hill, his rod over his shoulder.