But Bobby would not until he had asked his mother, for permission to shoot had been obtained only at expense of a very solemn promise.
"Fraidy!" jeered Johnnie, "tied to his mammy's apron-strings!"
Bobby flushed deeply, but stood his ground.
"It's my gun," he pointed out again. "If you don't like my yard, you needn't come into it."
"Oh, all right, we don't want to stay in your old yard," replied Johnnie. "Come on, kids."
"Johnnie, come back here," commanded the girl sharply. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself! He's perfectly right! Suppose one of us should get shot!"
"I'll get papa to shoot with us, if he will," promised Bobby.
"Johnny, you come back here!" ordered the girl in more peremptory tones. "You come back or—or—I'll sit on your head again!"
Johnny came back, entirely good-natured, his attractive blue eyes glancing here and there in restless activity.
"Oh, all right," said he. "Let's play robbers and policemen."