"Hello, Vick! Come over and see the horses," Isabelle called.
At the stable Marian's new pony that Cairy had selected was exhibited. Lane drove up with a friend he had brought from the city for the week end, and the party played with the pony and laughed at his tricks, which Cairy showed off.
"He looks like a cross between an Angora cat and a Newfoundland dog," Cairy remarked, leaning down to feel of his legs. As he stooped the ivory handle of a small revolver pushed out of the hip pocket of his riding breeches.
"What's that, Uncle Tom?" Marian asked, pointing to the pistol.
Cairy drew out the pistol and held it up, with a slight flourish,—"A family weapon!"
Holding the pony with one hand and pointing the revolver at a blossom on a magnolia tree a few paces away, he fired and the white petals came fluttering down. A second report and another blossom fell. The pony jumped and snorted, but it did not disturb Cairy's aim. A third blossom fell, and then he quickly shot the descending bud which had been cut by the previous shot.
"Steady hand!" Lane commented.
"It's an old habit of mine to carry it and practise when I have a chance," Cairy remarked, breaking the revolver. After extracting the shells, he handed the pistol to Isabelle.
"Made in Paris," she read from the chased plate.
"Yes; it's a pretty toy, don't you think?"