ion; and as for his father, Hughie
knew he would soon make "short work of any such folly." What would a
child like Hughie do with a pistol? He had never had a pistol in all his
life. It was difficult for the minister to realize that young Canada was
a new type, and he would have been more than surprised had any one told
him that already Hughie, although only twelve, was an expert with a gun,
having for many a Saturday during the long, sunny fall roamed the woods,
at first in company with Don, and afterwards with Don's gun alone, or
followed by Fusie or Davie Scotch. There was thus no help for Hughie at
home. The price of the pistol reduced to the lowest possible sum, was
two dollars and a half, which Foxy declared was only half what he would
charge any one else but his partner.

"How much have you got altogether?" he asked Hughie one day, when Hughie
was groaning over his poverty.

"Six pennies and two dimes," was Hughie's disconsolate reply. He had
often counted them over. "Of course," he went on, "there's my XL knife.
That's worth a lot, only the point of the big blade's broken."

"Huh!" grunted Foxy, "there's jist the stub left."

"It's not!" said Hughie, indignantly. "It's more than half, then. And
it's bully good stuff, too. It'll nick any knife in the school"; and
Hughie dived into his pocket and pulled out his knife with a handful of
boy's treasures.

"Hullo!" said Foxy, snatching a half-dollar from Hughie's hand, "whose
is that?"

"Here, you, give me that! That's not mine," cried Hughie.

"Whose is it, then?"

"I don't know. I guess it's mother's. I found it on the kitchen floor,
and I know it's mother's."

"How do you know?"

"I know well enough. She often puts money on the window, and it fell
down. Give me that, I tell you!" Hughie's eyes were blazing dangerously,
and Foxy handed back the half-dollar.

"O, all right. You're a pretty big fool," he said, indifferently.
"'Losers seekers, finders keepers.' That's my rule."

Hughie was silent, holding his precious half-dollar in his hand, deep in
his pocket.

"Say," said Foxy, changing the subject, "I guess you had better pay up
for your powder and caps you've been firing."

"I haven't been firing much," said Hughie, confidently.

"Well, you've been firing pretty steady for three weeks."

"Three weeks! It isn't three weeks."

"It is. There's this week, and last week when the ink-bottle bust too
soon and burnt Fusie's eyebrows, and the week bef