'Come,' said Gilbert, 'put that black affair into
the fire, and come along.'
'No!' said Maurice; 'it is my dear gun that Ulick made me, and it
shan't be burnt.'
'What, not if I give you a famous one--like a real one, with a stock
and barrel?' said Gilbert, anxious to be freed from the tokens of his
ebullition.
'No! no!' still stoutly said the constant Maurice. 'I don't want new
guns; I've got my dear old one, and I'll keep him to the end of his
days and mine!' and he crossed his arms over it.
'That's right, Maurice,' said Sophy; 'stick to old friends that have
borne wounds in your service!'
'Well, it's his concern if he likes such a trumpery old thing,' said
Gilbert. 'Come here, boy; you don't bear malice! Come and have a
ride on my back.'
The practical lesson, 'don't shoot at your brother's nose,' would
never have been impressed, had not mamma, on coming in, found Maurice
and his pop-gun nearly equally black, and by gradual unfolding of
cause and effect, learnt his forgotten offence. She reminded him of
ancient promises never to aim at human creatures, assured him that
Gilbert was very kind not to have burnt it outright; and to the great
displeasure, and temporary relief of all the family, sequestrated the
weapon for the rest of the evening.
Sophy told her in confidence that Gilbert had been the most to blame,
which she took as merely an instance of Sophy's blindness to
Maurice's errors; for the explosion had so completely worked off the
Oxford dash, that he was perfectly meek and amiable.
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