"He's enough of a gunner to bring mother in a wagon from
Pennsylvania all the way here, and he kept wolves, bears,
Indians, and Gypsies from her, and shot things for food. Yes
sir, my father can shoot if he wants to, better than any of our
family except Laddie."

"And does Laddie shoot well?"

"Laddie does everything well," I answered proudly. "He won't try
to do anything at all, until he practises so he can do it well."

"Score one for Laddie," he said in a queer voice.

"Are you in a hurry about the lions and tigers?"

"Not at all," he answered.

"Well, here I always stop and let Governor Oglesby go swimming,"
I said.

Mr. Mahlon Pryor sat on the bank of our Little Creek, took off
his hat and shook back his hair as if the wind felt good on his
forehead. I fished Dick Oglesby from the ammunition in my apron
pocket, and held him toward the cross old man, and he wasn't
cross at all. It's funny how you come to get such wrong ideas
about people.

"My big married sister who lives in Westchester sent him to me
last Christmas," I explained. "I have another doll, great big,