"Oh, don't try!" begged Phil. "It's our great-great-grandfather, and
Aunt Patricia thinks a lot of that picture."

"'Course I wouldn't do it," answered Stuart, taking another aim, "but
I could, just as easy as nothing." Still dallying with temptation, he
pointed again at the frowning eye and drew the rubber slowly back. All
of a sudden, zip! The buckshot seemed to leap from the rubber of its
own accord, and Stuart fell back, frightened by what he had done. A
round black hole the size of the buckshot gaped in the middle of the
old-ancestor's eye-ball, as clean cut as if it had been made with a
punch. It gave it the queerest, wickedest stare you can imagine. It
was the first thing one would notice on looking about the room. Stuart
was white about the mouth.

"Oh, dear," sighed Phil, half crying, "if Aunt Patricia was only like
the wise monkeys of Japan, then she wouldn't notice."

"But she will," said Stuart; "she always sees everything."

Phil had given me an idea. As soon as I heard Miss Patricia's silk
skirts coming slowly through the hall with their soft swish, swish, I
ran and sat in the doorway with my hands over my eyes, in token that
there was something that she ought not to look at. It should have
amused her, for she knew the story of the ebony paper-weight, but
instead it seemed to arouse her suspicion that something was wrong.
She looked at the boys' miserable faces and then all around the room,
very slowly. It was so still that you could have heard a pin drop. At
last she looked up at the picture. Then she fairly stiffened with
horror. She couldn't find a word for a moment, and Stuart cried out,