When she reached the point where the man had fired off his gun, Patrick interrupted explosively.
"The infernal scoundrel! That fellow will dangle at the end of a rope one of these days--and deserve it, too.

He's a murderous ruffian--a menace to the countryside." "He only fired into the air--to frighten me," explained Sara.
Her uncle looked at her curiously.
"And did he succeed ?" he asked.
She bestowed a little grin of understanding upon him.
"He did," she averred gravely.

Then, as Patrick's bushy eyebrows came together in a bristling frown, she added: "But he remained in ignorance of the fact." The frown was replaced by a twinkle.
"That's all right, then," came the contented answer.
"All the same, I really _was_ frightened," she persisted.
"It gave me quite a nasty turn, as the servants say.

I don't think"-- meditatively--"that I enjoy being shot at.

Am I a funk, my uncle ?" "No, my niece"-- with some amusement.