She came to the tree, re-affixed the ball, and, putting the pistol in my hand, asked me to shoot.
“I’ll try,” said I; “but you must keep behind me. Anybody within a hundred yards either side that tree would run the fearfullest risk. Winkle was a neater shot than I.”
I measured twenty paces, faced the tree, levelled the pistol, pulled the trigger, and by heaven! the ball fell!
Teazer stared: my uncle clapped his hands.
“You are a soldier’s son,” said he, “and ought to be able to shoot well. After that, Teazer, boast no more.”
I was now afraid that Teazer would challenge me to shoot again. Another fluke had added another leaf to the crown I felt sprouting about my brows: it would be a great blow to have the growth of that vegetation checked. But to my delight Theresa returned to her chair. I rather fancied that she felt somewhat ashamed of this amusement of hers. Perhaps because it was now associated with her conduct of the previous day; and she would naturally not care to deal with so direct a reference to her rudeness.
This exploit of mine naturally persuaded them that I was a far more accomplished person than my modesty suffered me to represent; and of course Theresa was sure that I could play and sing as well as I could shoot and ride.
“No, on my honour, I can’t sing a note.”
My uncle looked incredulous.
“But you can play?” said Theresa.