I ever repeat."

White Whiskers actually grinned.

"Well," he said, "I see it was an accident, my boy." Then he turned to
us and said:

"I owe you an apology for doubting your word--all of you. I hope it's
accepted."

We said it was all right and he was to never mind.

But all the same we hated him for it. He tried to make up for his
unbelievingness afterwards by asking Albert's uncle to shoot rabbits;
but we did not really forgive him till the day when he sent the fox's
brush to Alice, mounted in silver, with a note about her plucky conduct
in standing by her brothers.

* * * * *

We got a lecture about not playing with firearms, but no punishment,
because our conduct had not been exactly sinful, Albert's uncle said,
but merely silly.

The pistol and the cartridges were confiscated.

I hope the house will never be attacked by burglars. When it is,
Albert's uncle will only have himself to thank if we are rapidly
overpowered, because it will be his fault that we shall have to meet
them totally unarmed, and be their almost unresisting prey.

THE SALE OF ANTIQUITIES

It began one morning at breakfast. It was the fifteenth of August--the
birthday of Napoleon the Great, Oswald Bastable, and another very nice
writer. Oswald was to keep his birthday on the Saturday, so that his
father could be there. A birthday when there are only many happy returns
is a little like Sunday or Christmas Eve. Oswald had a birthday-card or
two--that was all; but he did not repine, because he knew they always
make it up to you for putting off keeping your birthday, and he looked
forward to Saturday.

Albert's uncle had a whole stack of letters as usual, and presently he
tossed one over to Dora, and said, "What do you say, little lady? Shall
we let them come?"

But Dora, butter-fingered as ever, missed the catch, and Dick and Noel
both had a try for it, so that the letter went into the place where the
bacon had been, and where now only a frozen-looking lake of bacon fat
was slowly hardening, and then somehow it got into the marmalade, and
then H. O. got it, and Dora said:

"I don't want the nasty thing now--all grease and stickiness." So H. O.
read it aloud:

"MAIDSTONE SOCIETY OF ANTIQUITIES AND FIELD CLUB,

"_Aug. 14, 1900._

"DEAR SIR,--At a meeting of the--"

H. O. stuck fast here, and the writing was really very bad, like a
spider