HE CAUGHT A GLIMPSE OF A CERTAIN FAMILIAR WHITE HORSE.
"Daddy Wilson's" was quite a mile and a half from Jim's house; but it did not take Tom long to cover the distance, and in a very short time he was under the bridge and out again on the other side with the rifle under his arm. His experience had been very limited with firearms, but he had a natural gift of being "handy" with almost anything, and he acted as though hunting were an old pastime, and the gun a companion of years. However, he thought it best to try and see how it went, and was just taking aim at a little yellow chipmunk, when the sound of an approaching carriage made him change his mind, and dart under the bridge and wait; he had caught a glimpse of a certain familiar white horse, and as it trotted over the bridge, shaking a little stream of dust through the cracks and down his neck, he realized he had had a narrow escape. After it had gone by, he tried his aim on an old green frog, and laid him out "flatter'n a pan-cake," as he said to himself. Two or three more trials were made, and he started through the woods for his blackberry patch, first walking very carefully, and finally creeping on all fours; but whatever the reason, that wily cock partridge had had his breakfast and declined to be found, and Tom was disappointed and cast down; he had counted on that bird to ease the reception he would meet at home, and now he would have to return empty handed. However, he made up his mind "he'd shoot something," and for an hour or more be popped ineffectually at chipmunks and small birds, and was really enjoying the sport, when it struck him that late to dinner would require an explanation, and thus greatly increase the chances of the very thing which he now wanted to avoid. So he hurried towards home, and went in through the place by a back way, intending to leave the rifle at the stable. The coachman was a good friend of his, and would clean and return it, and everything would be all right again. Now it happened that Mr. Henry was having built a small shed and tool-house behind his house, and, as luck would have it, he was watching its progress at the very moment when Tom emerged from behind some bushes, and unconsciously was walking down this back road towards the stable with the Flobert held close along his leg on the side farthest away from the house, so that "no one could guess he had anything." All looked smooth sailing. Suddenly he was startled by a familiar voice,
"Hey, Tom!" it called; "what you got there?"
There was no escape.
"A rifle, sir," replied Tom, in a rather muffled voice.
"A what!" cried the voice.
"A rifle, sir," replied Tom, again.
"Bring it here," was the short reply, and over across the field went Tom to his doom.
"Go back there and get one of those carpenters to give you a good sized shingle," said Mr. Henry, "and give me the gun."
"Well," said Tom to himself, "I knew I was taking risks," and he returned in a moment with the shingle, and looking his father straight in the eye waited the next command.