Jimson also had a little gun made, and determined
to use it as well as any of them.
When he brought it home and showed it to his wife, who was a very big
woman, she said,
"Jimson, you 'd better use bullets made of bread, and then you won't
hurt anything."
"Nonsense, Joan," replied the little man, "I shall have bullets made
of lead, just as other men do, and every duck I see I shall shoot and
bring home to you."
"I 'm afraid you won't kill many," said Joan.
But the little man believed he could shoot with the best of them, so
the next morning he got up early and took his little gun and started
down to the brook to hunt for duck.
It was scarcely daybreak when he arrived at the brook, and the sun had
not yet peeped over the eastern hill-tops, but no duck appeared
anywhere in sight, although Mr. Jimson knew this was the right time of
day for shooting them. So he sat down beside the brook and begun
watching, and before he knew it he had fallen fast asleep.
By and by he was awakened by a peculiar noise.
"Quack, quack, quack!" sounded in his ears; and looking up he saw a
pretty little duck swimming in the brook and popping its head under
the water in search of something to eat. The duck belonged to Johnny
Sprigg, who lived a little way down the brook, but the little man did
not know this. He thought it was a wild duck, so he stood up and
carefully took aim.
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