"I don't seem a fit subject to `have dominion,'" he said. "I'll
leave those thing for you; and thank you for what you have done
for me."

There was a crash through the bushes, a leap over the fence, and
Abram and the Cardinal were alone.

The old man sat down suddenly on a fallen limb of the sycamore.
He was almost dazed with astonishment. He held up his shaking
hands, and watched them wonderingly, and then cupped one over
each trembling knee to steady himself. He outlined his dry lips
with the tip of his tongue, and breathed in heavy gusts. He
glanced toward the thorn tree.

"Left his gun," he hoarsely whispered, "an' it's fine as a
fiddle. Lock, stock, an' barrel just a-shinin'. An' all that
heap o' leather fixin's. Must a-cost a lot o' money. Said he
wasn't fit to use 'em! Lept the fence like a panther, an' cut
dirt across the corn field. An' left me the gun! Well! Well!
Well! Wonder what I said? I must a-been almost FIERCE."

"See here! See here!" shrilled the Cardinal.

Abram looked him over carefully. He was quivering with fear, but
in no way injured.

"My! but that was a close call, ol' fellow" said, Abram. "Minute
later, an' our fun 'ud a-been over, an' the summer jest spoiled.
Wonder if you knew what it meant, an' if you'll be gun-shy after