his father, led by the
fascination of horror. Anybody looking at him, unless it was his mother,
would have thought he was going out of curiosity, to see the thing well
done. But there was a humming sound in his ears; the lump was choking
him cruelly; the whole yard was swimming round, and everything looked
strange.

As they drew near the kennel, Frank rose quickly to his feet, his tail
tapping the taut chain, his eyes eager and glowing as he looked from one
friend to another. Frank thought they had come to turn him loose and
give him his supper in his tin plate on the back steps. Then he saw, and
his ears drooped--saw the look on their faces, saw the switch, and he
sank down on his stomach and laid his big head humbly between his paws
at his master's feet.

"Don't!" shrieked the boy. "Papa, Papa, don't!"

In the midst of the whirling yard and barns and things, his father had
turned and looked down at him with strange burning eyes.

"I can't let him kill chickens, son."

It all happened in a flash. He hadn't intended doing any such thing. His
last resolve, even as he came around the house, had been to stick to his
spoken word. But now passionately he threw the air rifle away from him,
and stood looking up at his father with dilated eyes and heaving, sturdy
chest.

"Take the old gun!" he cried. "I don't want it! I killed Pete--F'ank
never done it. I shot him through the head!"

His father had stooped down now, and he was in strong arms. His cheek
was pressed against his father's cheek, and over a broad shoulder,
through a haze of tears, he looked miserably into the red glow of the
setting sun.

"I tol' F'ank to kill him," he sobbed brokenly, "an' he wouldn't. I
drove--drove him off, an' he kept comin' back. I killed him--I shot him
through the head!"

The arms tightened about him, the cheek pressed closer to his cheek.

"That's all right, old man," said his father. "I understand."

Gradually the sobs ceased, for he fought them down like a little man.
And when at last Earle rose, Tommy looked up clear-eyed into his
father's face, as he used to look before he ate of his forbidden fruit.
Then his father went to the gun, picked it up, and came back to him.

"It's yours," he said gently.

For the second time that day Tommy could hardly believe his ears; his
eyes were uncomprehending, for he had never expected to own the gun
again.

"You've earned it," said Earle, with a smile.

Then, within the house, swung