be suppressed but had better be recognised, they produced a real gun
(single-barrel) for me from the clock-case.

It stood on the landing just at the bottom of the dark flight that led
to the garret. An oaken case six feet high or more, and a vast dial,
with a mysterious picture of a full moon and a ship in full sail that
somehow indicated the quarters of the year, if you had been imitating
Rip Van Winkle and after a sleep of six months wanted to know whether it
was spring or autumn. But only to think that all the while we were
puzzling over the moon and the ship and the queer signs on the dial a
gun was hidden inside! The case was locked, it is true; but there are
ways of opening locks, and we were always handy with tools.

This gun was almost, but not quite so long as the other. That dated from
the time between Stuart and Hanover; this might not have been more than
seventy years old. And a beautiful piece of workmanship it was: my new
double breechloader is a coarse common thing to compare with it. Long
and slender and light as a feather, it came to the shoulder with
wonderful ease. Then there was a groove on the barrel at the breech and
for some inches up which caught the eye and guided the glance like a
trough to the sight at the muzzle and thence to the bird. The stock was
shod with brass, and the trigger-guard was of brass, with a kind of
flange stretching half-way down to the butt and inserted in the wood.
After a few minutes' polishing it shone like gold, and to see the
sunlight flash on it was a joy.

You might note the grain of the barrel, for it had not been browned; and
it took a good deal of sand to get the rust off. By aid of a little oil
and careful wiping after a shower it was easy to keep it bright. Those
browned barrels only encourage idleness. The lock was a trifle dull at