old times.  He wandered slowly along, recalling many a fishing frolic and boat-race he had engaged in, until a loud chatter above his head roused him from his reverie.  He looked up just in time to see a large squirrel striving to hide himself among the leaves on a tree that stood close by.  Frank’s gun was at his shoulder in a moment, and taking a quick aim at the squirrel, he pulled the trigger.  But the old Springfield musket was not intended for fine shooting; for, though the shot cut the leaves all around, the squirrel escaped unhurt, and, running up to the topmost branch, again concealed himself.  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.  But I must have that squirrel, if I have to shoot all day.  Haven’t you got a load in your gun?”

“Yes; but I might as well have none.  I can kill as many squirrels by throwing the musket at them, as I can by shooting at them.”

“Never mind, fire away—­the ammunition doesn’t cost us any thing.”

“I know it; but another thing, this musket kicks like blazes.  I had as soon stand before it, as behind it.  But I’ll try him;” and Archie raised his gun and blazed away.  This time there was no mistake; the squirrel was torn almost to pieces by the ball; and when the smoke cleared away, Frank saw his cousin sitting on the ground, holding both hands to his nose, which was bleeding profusely.

“You’ve killed the squirrel,” he said.

“Yes,” answered Archie; “but I hurt myself as much as I did him.”

Frank was a good deal amused, and could scarcely refrain from laughing at his cousin’s misfortune.  He tried to keep on a sober face, but the corners of his mouth would draw themselves out into a smile, in spite of himself.  Archie noticed this, and exclaimed: 

“Oh, it’s a good joke, no doubt.”

“If you would hold your gun firmly against your shoulder,” said Frank, “it wouldn’t hurt half so bad.  But hadn’t we better go on?”

Archie raised himself slowly from the ground, and they moved off through the woods.  The squirrels were very plenty; but it required two or three, and, sometimes, as many as half a dozen shots, to bring one down.