"Now," he said, shaking the powder into the pan by a succession of smart taps on the breech, "sometimes these old pieces go off and sometimes they don't; it depends on the flint, but you stand back of your Uncle Bob, sonny, and keep yo' fingers out of yo' ears, and when you say--bang!--off she goes." There was a moment of delightful expectancy, and then-- "Bang!" cried the child, and on the instant the rifle cracked.

"Do it again! Please, Uncle Bob!" he cried, wild with delight.
"Now if you was to help yo' Uncle Bob hook up that old mule of hisn and ride home with him, fo' he's going pretty shortly, you and Uncle Bob could do right much shootin' with this old rifle." Mr.Crenshaw had appeared with a bundle, which he tossed into the cart.

Yancy turned to him.

"If you meet any inquiring friends, Mr.John, I reckon you may say that my nevvy's gone fo' to pay me a visit.

Most of his time will be agreeably spent shootin' with this rifle at a mark, and me holdin' him so he won't get kicked clean off his feet." Thereafter beguiling speech flowed steadily from Mr.Yancy's bearded lips, in the midst of which relations were established between the mule and cart, and the boy quitted the Barony for a new world.
"Do you reckon if Uncle Bob was to let you, you could drive, sonny ?" "Can she gallop ?" asked the boy.
Mr.Yancy gave him a hurt glance.
"She's too much of a lady to do that," he said.