"Put it away.

You dare not fire." "_Non_; it would be a pity.

I nevaire like to shoot good stuff.

You are a brave boy, and I vill make you a fine man.

And you too, _mon garcon_." He laid his hands on the boys' shoulders, and pressed them hard, smiling as he said,-- "_Non_, I sink I am not a coward, _mon enfant_, but I tie you bose up vis ze hant behint, so you sall not run avay.