or
gentlemen to shoot yard-boys?" he said.

"Beg pardon, sir," the boy rejoined sheepishly. "There's accidents
sometimes."

The pigeons were wary after the shot, and would not come out, so the
yard-boy had to go into the house and drive them. There was a shelf in
front of the little door, on which they generally rested a moment,
bewildered, before they flew. Uncle James knew them all by sight, and
let several go, as being too old for his purpose. Then, standing
pretty close, he shot two, one after the other, as they stood
hesitating to take flight. While loading again, he discovered Beth;
but as he liked an audience when he was performing an exploit, he was
quite gracious.

"Nothing distinguishes a gentleman more certainly than a love of
sport," he observed blandly, as he shot another pigeon sitting.

This entertainment over, he looked at his watch. He had the whole day
divided into hours and half-hours, each with its separate occupation
or recreation; and nothing short of a visit from some personage of
importance was ever allowed to interrupt him in any of his pursuits.
For recreation he sometimes did a little knitting or a piece of Berlin
woolwork, because, he said, a gentleman should learn to do everything,
so as not to be at a loss if he were ever wrecked on a desert island.
For the same reason, he had also trained himself to sleep at odd
times, and in all sorts of odd places, choosing by preference some
corner where Aunt Grace Mary and the maids would least expect to find
him, the consequence being wild shrieks and shocks to their nerves,
such as, to use his own bland explanation, might be expected from
undisciplined females. Beth found him one day spread out on a large
oak chest in the main corridor upstairs, with two great china vases,
one at his head and one at his feet, filled with reeds and bulrushes,
which appeared to be waving over him, and looking in his sleep, with
his cadaverous countenance, like a self-satisfied corpse. She had been
on her way downstairs to dispose of the core of an apple she had
eaten; but, as Uncle James's mouth was open, she left it there.

Uncle James was wont to deliver little lectures to the children, for
the improvement of their minds, during luncheon, which was their
dinner-hour.

"With regularity and practice you may accomplish great things," he
said on one occasion. "I myself always practise 'Hamilton's Exercises'
on the pianoforte for one hour every day, from half-past