“Just as you say, ma’am.”

“I believe that is all I have to say.  Sophia, shall we go to our own room?”

“Just so.”

So the two maidens withdrew, and Andy was left to his own reflections.  He undressed himself quickly, and deposited himself in the bed, which proved to be very comfortable.

He went to bed, but there was one thing that prevented his going to sleep.  This was the gun.  He had never even had one in his hand, and now there was one at his absolute disposal.  It made him feel a sense of his importance to feel that, upon him, young as he was, devolved the duty of defending the house and its occupants from burglary.

“And why not?  Shure, I’m ’most a man,” reflected Andy.  “I can shoot off a gun as well as anybody.  I wonder will robbers come to-night!” thought Andy.

He rather wished they would, so that he might have an excuse for firing the gun.  However, of this there seemed very little chance, for had not Miss Priscilla said that it had been loaded for more than a year, and during all that time John had never had occasion to use it?  This seemed rather discouraging.

“I wonder would they let me go out gunning with it?” thought Andy.

Somehow or other, he could not get his mind off the gun, and, after a lapse of an hour, he was as wide awake as ever.

Meanwhile, Priscilla and Sophia were both asleep, not being interested in the gun.

Finally it occurred to Andy that he would get up and look at the gun.  He wanted to make sure that he understood how to fire it.  It was important that he should do so, he reasoned to himself, for might not a burglar come that very night?  Then, suppose he was unable to fire the gun, and in consequence of his ignorance, both he and the two ladies should be murdered in their beds.  Of course, this was not to be thought of, so Andy got out of bed, and, finding a match, lit the candle and put it on the bureau, or chest of drawers, as they called it in the country.

Then he stepped softly to the closet and took out the gun.

“Murder! how heavy it is!” thought Andy.  “I didn’t think it was half as heavy.  There must be a pound of bullets inside.  Now,” he said to himself, “suppose a big thafe was to poke his dirty head in at the winder and say, ’Give me all your money, or I’ll break your head’—­I’d put up with the gun and point at him this way.”

Here Andy brought the gun into position with some difficulty and put his finger near the trigger.

“And I’d say,” continued Andy, rehearsing his part, “’Jump down, you thafe, or I’ll put a bullet through your head.’”

At that unlucky moment his finger accidentally pulled the trigger, and instantly there was a tremendous report, the noise being increased by the shattering of the window panes by the bullet.

Probably the charge was too heavy, for the gun “kicked,” and Andy, to his astonishment, found himself lying flat on his back on the floor, with the gun lying beside him.