’WHAT do you think she’d do if she caught us? We oughtn’t to have it, you know, ’ said Maisie.
'Beat me, and lock you up in your bedroom, ’ Dick answered, without hesitation. 'Have you got the cartridges?’
'Yes; they’re in my pocket, but they are joggling horribly. Do pin-fire cartridges go off of their own accord?’
'Don’t know. Take the revolver, if you are afraid, and let me carry them.’
'I’m not afraid.’ Maisie strode forward swiftly, a hand in her pocket and her chin in the air. Dick followed with a small pin-fire revolver.
The children had discovered that their lives would be unendurable without pistol-practice. After much forethought and self-denial, Dick had saved seven shillings and sixpence, the price of a badly constructed Belgian revolver. Maisie could only contribute half a crown to the syndicate for the purchase of a hundred cartridges. 'You can save better than I can, Dick, ’ she explained; 'I like nice things to eat, and it doesn’t matter to you. Besides, boys ought to do these things.’