aid that we had an abundant supply of cartridges, and took a
chair beside me.

"Now, Nat," he said, as soon as we were alone, save that a man was
behind the loophole ready to thrust out his long-handled brush to whiten
the target. "Now, Nat, my boy, fire away all that ammunition. It will
not be wasted, for it will make you used to your gun. We will leave the
rifle practice till we get to sea. Now, then, begin, and mind this,
when you have fired keep your eye upon the object at which you aimed.
I'll tell you why. If it is a bird, say a valuable specimen, that we
have been seeking for weeks, you may have hit the object, but it flies a
short distance before it drops, and if you have lost sight of it for a
moment all our trouble is wasted, for it is sometimes labour in vain to
seek for small objects in a dense, perhaps impenetrable jungle."

"I'll remember that, uncle."

"Another thing, my boy--a very simple thing, but one which you must
learn to do, for your eyes are too valuable when we are collecting for
them to do anything but look out for the treasures we seek. Now mind
this: you raise your gun, take aim, and fire--not hurriedly, mind, but
with quick ease. Then either before or after you have fired your second
barrel, according to circumstances, but with your eyes still fixed upon
the bird or animal at which you shot, open the breech of your gun, take
out the spent cartridge, and reload."

"Without looking, uncle?"

"Certainly: your fingers will soon manage all that with a little
education."

I could not help a little nervous haste as I began to load and fire at
the targets, but after two or three shots I grew more used to what I was
doing, and to my great delight found that I had hit the target.

Then after a little more practice I found it so much easier that I
generally saw one or two little spots on the white discs; and by the
time that the ammunition was all gone--that was after I had fired
forty-eight times--I had once or twice made a respectable show upon the
target, but I finished off with four misses, and as my head was now
aching badly from the concussion and the noise, I turned with a very
rueful face to my uncle.

"Time we left off that," he said smiling. "You are tired, and your
hands are getting unsteady."

"I'm afraid I shall never shoot, Uncle Dick," I said dolefully.

"Nonsense, my boy!" he cried, clapping me on the shoulder; "you shot
very badly indeed, but better than I expected,