'Apparently my father has a monomania for the article.' Gilbert
intended to speak with provoking coolness; but another fraternal
pellet hit him fall in the nose, and the accompanying shout of glee
was too much for an already irritated temper. With passion most
unusual in him, he caught hold of the child, and exclaiming, 'You
little imp, what do you mean by it?' he wrenched the weapon out of
his hand, and dashed it into the fire, in the midst of an energetic
'For shame!' from his sister. Maurice, with a furious 'Naughty
Gilbert,' struck at him with both his little fists clenched, and then
precipitated himself over the fender to snatch his treasure from the
grate, but was instantly captured and pulled back, struggling,
kicking, and fighting with all his might, till, to the equal relief
of both brothers, Sophy held up the pop-gun in the tongs, one end
still tinged with a red glow, smoky, blackened, and perfumed.
Maurice made one bound, she lowered it into his grasp as the last red
spark died out, and he clasped it as Siegfried did the magic sword!
'There, Maurice, I didn't mean it,' said Gilbert, heartily ashamed
and sorry; 'kiss and make it up, and then put on your hat, and we'll
come up to old Smith's and get such a jolly one!'
The forgiving child had already given the kiss, glad to atone for his
aggressions, but then was absorbed in rubbing the charred wood,
amazed that while so much black came off on his fingers, the effect
on the weapon was not proportionate, and then tried another shot in a
safer direction.
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