except Stuart. They had a good time, for Miss Patricia told them
stories and showed them the curious things in her cabinet and gave
them sugar-plums out of the big, blue china dragon that always stands
on top of it. But I could see that she was not enjoying their visit.
She was afraid that Stuart's rockers would bump against her handsome
old mahogany furniture, or that they would scratch it in some way, or
break some of her fine vases and jardinières.

After awhile she was called down to the parlour to receive a guest,
and there was nothing to amuse the boys. Time dragged so heavily that
Phil begged Stuart to bring his little rubber-gun--gumbo-shooter he
called it. It was a wide rubber band fastened at each end to the tips
of a forked stick shaped like a big Y. They used buckshot to shoot
with, nipping up a shot in the middle of the band with thumb and
finger, and drawing it back as far as possible before letting it fly.

There was a fire in the grate, so they were comfortably warm even when
they opened the window to take turns in shooting at the red berries on
the vine just outside. It was as much as Phil could do, lying on the
sofa, to send a buckshot through the open window without hitting the
panes above, but Stuart cut a berry neatly from the vine at each
trial.

Soon he began to boast of his skill, and aimed his sling at an ancient
portrait over the mantel. It was of a dignified old gentleman in a
black stock and powdered wig. He had keen, eagle eyes like Miss
Patricia, which seemed to follow one all around the room.

"I bet I could hit that picture square in the apple of its eye," he
bragged, "right in its eye-ball,--bim!"