'Tis a melancholy story.
He came again about three months afterwards, in the beginning of the spring-time, and brought me a beautiful new carbine, having learned my love of such things, and my great desire to shoot straight.

But mother would not let me have the gun, until he averred upon his honour that he had bought it honestly.

And so he had, no doubt, so far as it is honest to buy with money acquired rampantly.

Scarce could I stop to make my bullets in the mould which came along with it, but must be off to the Quarry Hill, and new target I had made there.

And he taught me then how to ride bright Winnie, who was grown since I had seen her, but remembered me most kindly.