chisels and peavies and all other business-like tools of a trade. Their
very shapes were the most appropriate and romantic shapes they could
possibly have assumed. He made lists. At first they were elaborate, and
included the big foot press and four fonts of type and three colours of
ink and fixings innumerable. They then shrank modestly by gradations
until they stuck at the 5x7 form. Bobby would not have cared for a press
smaller than that, for he wanted to print real things, like bill-heads
and whist cards and perhaps a small newspaper. His little heart throbbed
with a complete enthusiasm.

"When I grow up I think I'd like to be a printer like Mr. Daggett," he
said wistfully.

"Oh, no, you wouldn't," said Mr. Orde. "It's a poor trade--no money in
it here--and you'd have to stay in the house all the time. You wouldn't
want to be a printer, Bobby."

"Yes I would," repeated Bobby positively.

X

THE SPORTSMAN'S ASSOCIATION

The Maple County Sportsman's Association held its weekly shoots with
regularity. It consumed a great deal of Bobby's time and attention. You
see, each event was to be anticipated, and then remembered; the score
was to be rejoiced over or regretted; and the great question of how to
do better was to be considered prayerfully and long. Bobby found it to
be a more complicated problem than he would have believed possible. He
used to lie awake in bed thinking it over. Regularly before Thursday
came around he hit on a complete solution of the difficulty; and as
regularly he discovered by the actual test that something, whether of
theory or practice, still lacked.

Mr. Kincaid always listened to his ideas non-commitally.

"I've found out what it is!" cried Bobby as soon as Bucephalus had
approached within hearing distance. "You got to practise until your
forefinger works all by itself--entirely separate from the rest of your
arm. Then the rifle won't jerk sideways so much."

"All right," Mr. Kincaid responded, as Bobby climbed laboriously into
the cart. "Try it."

Bobby tried it; found it difficult to accomplish, and not altogether
effective. The bullets still scattered more or less like a shotgun
charge. Mr. Kincaid's score more than doubled his. Mr. Kincaid always
shot the best he could; and entered a grave negative to Bobby's
tentative suggestion for a handicap.

"No, Bobby," said he, "don't believe in 'em. It really doesn't matter
whether you defeat me or not; now does it? But it doe