Orde, I'm proud of that kid. I want you to let me do
something; he's old enough now to have a sure enough gun, and I want you
to let me give it to him. Stafford has a little shotgun--16 gauge--ever
see one?"

"Nothing smaller than a 12" confessed Orde.

"Well, I told him to keep it for me. I'd like to give it to Bobby. He's
learned fast, and he's paid attention to what he learned. I don't
believe in guns for small boys, but Bobby is careful; he doesn't make
any breaks."

Johnny reached over to clasp Bobby excitedly.

"Now we can get partridges!" he squealed under his breath.

But Bobby was unexpectedly cold to this enthusiasm. He reached over to
close the register. At once the voices were shut off. Then for some time
he sat cross-legged staring straight in front of him. To Johnny's
remarks he replied irritably until that youngster flounced himself into
a corner with a book, ostentatiously indifferent.

Bobby was seeing things. As was his habit, he was visualizing a scene
that had passed, recalling each little detail of what had at the time
apparently passed lightly over his consciousness.

He saw again plainly the yellow sand-hills under his feet, and the
village lying below, its roofs half hidden in the lilac and mauve of
bared branches, its columns of smoke rising straight up in the frosty
air. He saw the sturdy round-shouldered form in the old shooting coat,
the lined brown lean face, the white moustache and the eyebrows, the
kindly twinkling eyes squinted against the western light. He heard again
Mr. Kincaid's deep slow voice:

"Sonny, you can always be a sportsman--a sportsman does things because
he likes them, Bobby, for no other reason--not for money, nor to become
famous, nor even to win--and a right man does not get pleasure in doing
a thing if in any way he takes an unfair advantage--if _you_--not the
thinking you, nor even the conscience you, but the way-down-deep-in-your
heart _you_ that you can't fool nor trick nor lie to--if that _you_ is
satisfied, it's all right."

Bobby sighed deeply and went downstairs.

XXVII

THE SPORTSMAN

He opened the door and entered very quietly, so that neither occupant of
the room saw him before he spoke.

"I heard what you said--through the register----" he explained. "But I
can't take the shotgun."

Both men turned and looked at him curiously, the first natural
exclamations stilled on their lips by the sight of his straight, earnest
little figure