had I bin more used to
Joe Blunt's rifle."
Mrs. Varley's heart beat high, and her face flushed
with pride as she gazed at her son, who laid the rifle on
the table for her inspection, while he rattled off an
animated and somewhat disjointed account of the
match.
"Deary me! now that was good, that was cliver.
But what's that scraping at the door?"
"Oh! that's Fan; I forgot her. Here! here! Fan!