cuttings or the red flowers. Finally, I decided to go hunting.
I went into the garden and gathered every ripe touch-me-not pod I
could find, and all the portulaca. Then I stripped the tiger
lilies of each little black ball at the bases of the leaves, and
took all the four o'clock seed there was. Then I got my biggest
alder popgun and started up the road toward Sarah Hood's.

I was going along singing a little verse; it wasn't Dutch either;
the old baby could have that if it wanted it. Soon as I got from
sight of the house I made a powderhorn of a curled leaf, loaded
my gun with portulaca powder, rammed in a tiger lily bullet, laid
the weapon across my shoulder, and stepped high and lightly as
Laddie does when he's in the Big Woods hunting for squirrel. It
must have been my own singing--I am rather good at hearing
things, but I never noticed a sound that time, until a voice like
a rusty saw said: "Good morning, Nimrod!"

I sprang from the soft dust and landed among the dog fennel of a
fence corner, in a flying leap. Then I looked. It was the
Princess' father, tall, and gray, and grim, riding a big black
horse that seemed as if it had been curried with the fine comb
and brushed with the grease rag.

"Good morning!" I said when I could speak.

"Am I correct in the surmise that you are on the chase with a
popgun?" he asked politely.

"Yes sir," I answered, getting my breath the best I could.