That Little Beggar Part 14

"How drefful!"

"Then go and get that little gun I bought you, and I'll show you how to hold it as you should."

"Just like a real soldier?"

"Well, how else?

"Now, look here," said Uncle G.o.dfrey, when Chris returned with the gun, "didn't I tell you that it was very dangerous to hold a gun like that?

It's not sportsmanlike either. Do you hear?"

He spoke with some severity, for he was a young man who was very thorough in all he did, whether work or play, and would tolerate no carelessness.

"Not sports-man-like!" echoed Chris slowly, trying hard with his child's voice to imitate Uncle G.o.dfrey's manly tone.

"Then, as you hear, remember," his uncle said, authoritatively. "Now, rest the gun against your right shoulder--you young duffer, that's your left shoulder; I said your right. Shut your left eye, and aim at my hand."

"Yes," said the little beggar, very proud of himself.

"Let's see; that's right," his uncle continued.

"Now, fire!... Not bad, only you should keep your arm steadier. It wobbled about too much."

"It's very tired," Chris remarked.

Then he inquired: "Uncle G.o.dfrey, may I shoot some wicked men?"

"Certainly, when you find them--and with that gun," he answered.

"Only in the legs," added Chris, "'cause it would be unkind to kill them really, wouldn't it? But I may shoot their legs, so that they can be caught, and can't run away; mayn't I?"

"As much as you like, I say, with that gun," his uncle replied, as he resumed his neglected correspondence.

"I shall shoot a lot," Chris said, with satisfaction.

"Granny," he went on eagerly as he entered the hall, "I'm going to shoot some wicked men. Uncle G.o.dfrey says I may."

"With that gun," cried his uncle, without looking up from his writing.

"My darling!" Granny exclaimed, somewhat dismayed at this bloodthirsty ambition. "But you should not wish to hurt anyone; no, no one at all."

"Only wicked men, and only in the legs, so they couldn't run away from the people who catched them," he said comfortingly. "And I'm going to do it with this gun Uncle G.o.dfrey gave me. Isn't it a beufferfull gun?" he went on proudly.

"Yes, yes, I saw it," she answered, taking it out of his hands. "A very nice little gun indeed, my pet."

"Oh, my Granny, take care!" he cried suddenly, in a loud, warning voice.

"Why what is the matter?" asked the old lady starting, and in her alarm almost dropping the gun as she spoke. "What is it?" she repeated in a flurried manner, turning round vaguely as she spoke.

"You mustn't hold the gun like that, my Granny," Chris said more calmly, but still gravely; "it's very dan-ger-rus, and it's not sport-man-like."

"Thank you, my darling," she said simply. "Granny will remember another time."

"Shut up, Chris," said Uncle G.o.dfrey laughing, "and don't talk nonsense."

"Well, I want somebody to play with me," he said inconsequently, as he returned to his Uncle's side. "I want someone to play with me very badly."

"I can't," said Uncle G.o.dfrey, in his usual decided manner. "I have to finish my letters."

"Then, Miss Beggarley," he asked, with the air of one making the best of an unpromising state of affairs, "will you tell me a story?"

"Not now, dear," I answered. "I am just turning the heel of this sock, and I can't think of that and a story too."

"Not even Miss Beggarley can tell me a story!" said Chris, sitting down, with a disconsolate expression, beside Jacky on the hearth-rug.

"Not even Miss Beggarley," I repeated laughing.

Chris, looking disappointed and injured, gave Jacky an irritable push, which resulted in an angry growl.

There was a deep sigh from the little beggar. "No one plays with me now," he said mournfully, "and Jacky growls. Naughty Jacky; I don't love you."

"Naughty Chris; it's time for you to go back to the nursery," remarked Uncle G.o.dfrey half-smiling.

"Yes, my Chris; a few lessons, or a nice walk," Granny said, persuasively. "Now, go, like my little pet."

In spite, however, of her gentle persuasions, Chris looked as if he would like to protest, had he not lacked the courage to do so in the presence of Uncle G.o.dfrey. It was, therefore, slowly and unwillingly that he went up the first flight of stairs, then sat on the landing and looked at the back of Uncle G.o.dfrey's head as he bent over his writing.

In a moment or two Briggs' voice was heard in the distance.

"Master Chris, where are you?"

"Here I am," he called back; "just here."

"What, not gone yet?" Uncle G.o.dfrey said a little sharply, turning round.

"Yes, I'm gone," answered the little beggar half-defiantly, half-nervously, as he rose hastily from the landing and continued his upward progress.

"What do you want, Briggs?" he called out.

"I want to know," she said, the sound of her voice coming nearer; "I want to know if you can tell me where your hats are? It's time for you to go out, and I've hunted for them everywhere, but not one can I find."

"Why, they're down there," Chris was heard to say in an aggrieved voice, and as if she were asking a most unnecessary question. "They're all down there."

"And where might down there be?" she asked, with some irritation.

"Why, on the table near the door, with Uncle G.o.dfrey's hats," he answered. "I'm always going to keep my hats there now," he added. "It's only babies what has their hats in the nursery."

"Well, if this doesn't pa.s.s everything!" she was heard to exclaim angrily. "And to think of me hunting for those very same hats for the last quarter of an hour till I'm that tired. Your tricks, Master Chris, are beyond bearing. You'll please come down with me this minute and fetch those very same hats."

"I shall put them all back when we come home," Chris remarked rebelliously, as he began to walk downstairs in company with the irate Briggs.