While Frank was reloading, Archie came up, and stood leaning on his gun, with rather a dejected air.

"What's the matter with you ?" inquired Frank.
"I wish I was down to the river," answered Archie.
"What would you do there?
go fishing ?" "No, but I'd sink this musket so deep that no one would ever find it again.

It don't shoot worth a row of pins.

If I was standing twenty feet from the side of a barn, I couldn't hit it, I wish I had my shot-gun here." "So do I," answered Frank; "I would very soon bring down that squirrel.
I'm going to try him again;" and going around to the side of the tree where the squirrel had taken refuge, he fired again, but with no better success.

The squirrel, not in the least injured, appeared amid a shower of leaves, and speedily found a new hiding-place.
"It's no use, I tell you," said Archie; "you can't hit any thing with that musket." "It does look a little that way.