"
Jem saw with self-upbraiding pain how Mr. Carson winced at these
last words, but at each irrepressible and involuntary evidence of
feeling, the hearts of the two men warmed towards him. Jem went on
speaking.
"One day in the week--I think it was on the Wednesday,--yes, it
was--it was on St. Patrick's day, I met John just coming out of our
house, as I were going to my dinner. Mother was out, and he'd found
no one in. He said he'd come to borrow the old gun, and that he'd
have made bold, and taken it, but it was not to be seen. Mother was
afraid of it, so after father's death (for while he were alive, she
seemed to think he could manage it) I had carried it to my own room.
I went up and fetched it for John, who stood outside the door all
the time."
"What did he say he wanted it for?" asked Mr. Carson hastily.
"I don't think he spoke when I gave it him. At first he muttered
something about the shooting gallery, and I never doubted but that
it was for practice there, as I knew he had done years before."
Mr. Carson had strung up his frame to an attitude of upright
attention while Jem was speaking; now the tension relaxed, and he
sank back in his chair, weak and powerless.
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