"John Fry, I am not blubbering; you make a great mistake, John. You are
thinking of little Annie. I cough sometimes in the winter-weather, and
father gives me lickerish--I mean--I mean--he used to. Now let me have
the gun, John."

"Thee have the goon, Jan! Thee isn't fit to putt un to thy zhoulder.
What a weight her be, for sure!"

"Me not hold it, John! That shows how much you know about it. Get out
of the way, John; you are opposite the mouth of it, and likely it is
loaded."

John Fry jumped in a livelier manner than when he was doing day-work;
and I rested the mouth on a cross rack-piece, and felt a warm sort
of surety that I could hit the door over opposite, or, at least, the
cobwall alongside of it, and do no harm in the orchard. But John would
not give me link or fuse, and, on the whole, I was glad of it, though
carrying on as boys do, because I had heard my father say that the
Spanish gun kicked like a horse, and because the load in it came from
his hand, and I did not like to undo it. But I never found it kick very
hard, and firmly set to the shoulder, unless it was badly loaded. In
truth, the thickness of the metal was enough almost to astonish one; and
what our people said about it may have been true enough, although most
of them are such liars--at least, I mean, they make mistakes, as all
mankind must do. Perchance it was no mistake at all to say that this
ancient gun had belonged to a noble Spaniard, the captain of a fine
large ship in the "Invincible Armada," which we of England managed to
conquer, with God and the weather helping us, a hundred years ago or
more--I can't say to a month or so.