PADDY' S APOLOGY. 31 



got the gun ; an' do you get the fodder, an' I'm in wi' 

 yer.' 



" ' That's fair an' squar' enough,' says Pete. ' I knows 

 whur I kin make a raise o' powder. But let's hev a 

 squint at the gun.' Pete turned it this away an' that 

 away, an' pulled an' tugged, but 'twur no go; the 

 blamed thing wouldn't cock for us. He then said he'd 

 take it along wi' him an' get it fixed by an Irish car- 

 penter as lived clost to his own 'house. Wai, in a 

 kupple o' days I walked over an' asked ef Pete Snig- 

 gers hadn't left my old gun fur repairs. 'Yerra, 

 Johnny,' says Paddy, ' I'm af eerd ye'll be mad at me ; 

 but Biddy b'iled the kittle fur tay wid it bad man- 

 ners to her that didn't know betther ! But it can't be 

 helped. Anyhow, sure you had no bisness to have a 

 gun ; you're too young, child, and 'ud only shoot yer- 

 self ; so you ought to be thankful instead o' sorry.' I 

 wur mortal vexed, you bet, an' most of all when I 

 thort o' what Uncle Silas 'ud say when he found the 

 old musket gone. But, as Paddy had said, it cudn't be 

 helped ; an' so I went home sad enuff. 



"Three days arter this, one mornin' at breakfast, 

 Uncle Silas says to me, ' Lucky fur you, Johnny,' says 

 he, ' that you're not like that sneakin' cuss, Pete Snig- 

 gers. He stole a gun somewheres, an' it busted an 

 blowed the hull arm clean off him !' Wai, I a'most fell 

 under the table. I felt green, white, an' red by turns ; 

 an' only Uncle Silas wur a-pokin' down in his plate, he 

 must have smelt out I knowed somethin' about it. Arter 



