"Why, not to have Uncle here at the match."
"I don't understand," she said, looking puzzled.
"Why, the study door's locked and he's very busy. I was just thinking it would be a great shame if he shouldn't come up this afternoon at all."
"What a ridiculous idea!" said Dorry, with a light laugh. "Why, of course, Uncle will come. I'll bring him myself."
And she did.
Of all the merry company that came trooping up the green slope to the shooting-range that afternoon, not a brighter, happier-looking pair was seen than Mr. Reed and Dorry, as they joined the eager crowd of boys and girls. The little maid evidently had chased away his troubles for that day.
Donald was too busy to do much more than glance at them, but that glance did him good; his hearty "Ho, Uncle!" did Mr. Reed good, too.
After a careful inspection of the arrangements, and a few words with Don and the other boys concerning the necessary rules and restrictions for the general safety, Mr. Reed retired to the rustic seat of honor that had been prepared for him. The other spectators stood near by, or settled themselves comfortably upon the turf.
Sailor Jack stood at a respectful distance with the smallest youngsters about him, explaining to them that they'd best "stand close, and keep a sharp lookout; for dry land was a pesky dang'rous place at all times, and now, with bullets flyin' about there was no tellin' what might happen. But if they wanted to see right clever shootin', they could just wait a bit; for Master Donald had the sharpest eye he ever see'd in any youngster on sea or shore."
There were to be eight contestants. All had arrived excepting Ben Buster. He had been invited to shoot, but had loftily replied that he had other affairs on hand, and he'd come if he could; and anyhow, they'd best have a substitute ready.