CHAPTER II 



FOLLOWING my murderous attack on the innocent 

 parus ceruleus (the blue-tit) I regarded the polygroove 

 rifle with the oblique eye of suspicion. This was not the 

 outcome of an uneasy conscience, I am sorry to say ; but 

 because my right shoulder showed an artistic blending of 

 variegated tints ; moreover, it ached sorely for many a day 

 after it had experienced the recoil of that archaic weapon. 



But my ardent desire to acquit myself bravely in the ex- 

 ploitation of powder and shot was in no way damped. I had 

 seen a wonderful weapon in an ironmonger's window at Barnet 

 (our nearest town, about four miles distant from Moat Mount), 

 which excited my admiration, and, be it admitted, my cupidity. 



The price was reasonable, viz., twenty-five shillings, all 

 complete ! It was a single-barrel muzzle-loader and, if 

 outward appearances were to count for anything, that gun 

 was " IT ! " It was simply a blaze of varnish and burnished 

 metal. 



In those days, twenty-five bob meant a deal of cheeseparing 

 and the strictest economy, if I was to save the requisite sum 

 from my pocket money. 



However, I had the whole of the Spring and Summer months 

 to hoard my resources ; but when August arrived I was still 

 fifteen shillings short. A deus ex machina materialized in the 

 majestic person of my maternal grandfather, Mr. Commissioner 

 de Fonblanque, who was then past the eighty-year-old mark. 



The learned judge was of portly proportions, and so short 

 of breath that had he been a horse instead of a human being 

 he would have been set down as a pronounced " roarer," 

 and, my word, he could roar, when a particularly acute attack 

 of gout afflicted him. At such times it was not safe to trust 



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