CHAPTER IV 



MY birthday happens to fall on the penultimate day of 

 August. Between the occasion of my foray on the 

 ice-house and that date I had been left guessing whether, or 

 when, I should next have a chance of loosing off a gun, and 

 had sorrowfully come to the conclusion that once again I 

 should have to possess my soul in patience, what time I 

 could only watch my elders and alleged betters attempting 

 the death of sparsely scattered birds and bunnies when St. 

 Partridge's Day should arrive ; therefore, my anticipation 

 was not of a very ardent quality. So I retired to rest on the 

 3 ist, without experiencing those thrills of excitement which 

 are apt to drive slumber from the eyes of the most weary of 

 small boys, who is assured of participation in the onslaught 

 of " The First." I slept like a top. 



But I was early awake. The first object on which my 

 eyes fell was a long, brown, flax-cloth case beautifully bound 

 with burnished brass. 



I leaped out of bed, bent on closer investigation. 



There was affixed thereto a plate, on which was inscribed 

 the following touching legend : 



" HARDING DE F. Cox, 



FROM 



" His LOVING FATHER, 

 On the occasion of his 12 th Birthday. " 



With trembling fingers I unfastened the strappings, plied 

 the key which was attached to the handle, and lifted the lid. 



What a^glorious sight met my eyes 1 



There, in"' its" green-baize bed, was a beautiful single-barrel 

 pin-fire, twelve bore, with fittings complete. Glory be ! 



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