“No, because I never practice. It isn't exciting to be walking up and down between two targets, and doing the same thing over and over again. Why, you don't find it so yourself. You hardly ever shoot.”
“Indeed, I do though, constantly.”
“Why, I have scarcely ever seen you shooting.”
“That is because you are away with the boys all day.”
“Oh, I am never too far to know what is going on. I'm sure you have never practised for more than a quarter of an hour any day I have been here.”
“Well, perhaps I may not have. But I tell you I am very fond of it.”
Here the two boys came up from the brook, Neddy with his Scotch cap full of crayfish.
“Why, you wretched boys, where have you been? You are not fit to be seen,” said Mary, shaking the arrows at them which she was carrying in her hand. “Go and dress directly, or you will be late. I think I heard a carriage driving up just now.”
“Oh, there's plenty of time. Look what whackers, Cousin Tom,” said Charley, holding out one of his prizes by its back towards Tom, while the indignant crayfish flapped its tail and worked around with its claws, in hopes of getting hold of something to pinch.
“I don't believe those boys have been dry for two hours together in daylight since you first came here,” said Mary, to Tom.