One afternoon, several weeks subsequent to the events related in the last chapter, Mary and Archie Leland came over to Ion to spend an hour with their young friends.

The weather was delightful, and the children preferred playing out of doors; the girls took their dolls to a summer-house in the garden, while with kite, ball and marbles, the boys repaired to the avenue.

“Who are those?” asked Archie, as looking up at the sound of approaching footsteps he saw two boys, a good deal older than themselves, coming leisurely toward them.

“My cousins, Wal Conly and Dick Percival,” answered Eddie.  “I wish they hadn’t come, they always tease me so.”

“Hilloa!” cried Dick, “what!  Ed Travilla, you play with carpet-baggers, eh? fie on you!  I wouldn’t be seen with one.”

“That’s not polite, Dick.  Archie’s a good boy; mamma and papa says so; and I like him for a playfellow.”

“You do? ah, that’s because you’re a scalawag.”

“What’s that?”

“What your father is and your grandfather too.”

“Then I don’t care; I want to be just like my papa.”

“But it isn’t nice,” put in Walter, laughing, “a scalawag’s the meanest thing alive.”

“Then you shall not call papa that, nor grandpa!” and the child’s great dark eyes flashed with anger.

“Whew!  I’d like to see you hinder me.  Look here, Ed,” and Dick pulled out a pistol, “what d’ye think o’ that? don’t you wish you had one? don’t you wish you could shoot?”

“I can,” returned Eddie, proudly, “papa’s been teaching me, and he’s given me a better pistol than that.”

“Hey! a likely story!” cried the two tormentors, with an incredulous laugh.  “Let’s see it now?”

“It’s in the house, but papa said I should never touch it ’cept when he gives it to me; not till I grow a big boy.”

“Nonsense!” cried Dick, “if ’twas there, you’d bring it out fast enough.  I sha’n’t believe a word of the story until I see the pistol.”

“I’ll show you if I’m not telling the truth;” exclaimed Eddie, flushing hotly, and turning about as if to go into the house.

But Archie laid a hand on his arm, and speaking for the first time since the others had joined them, “Don’t, Eddie,” he said persuasively, “don’t disobey your father; I know you’ll be sorry for it afterwards.”

“Hold your tongue, you young carpet-bagger,” said Dick.  “Run and get it, Ed.”

“No, never mind about his pistol, he can’t shoot,” said Walter, mockingly.  “If he can, let him take yours and prove it.”

Eddie remembered well that his father had also forbidden him to touch firearms at all, except when with him; but the boy was naturally proud and wilful, and spite of all the careful training of his parents, these faults would occasionally show themselves.

He did not like to have his word doubted, he was eager to prove his skill, which he conceived to be far greater than it was, and as his cousins continued to twit and tease him, daring him to show what he could do, he was sorely tempted to disobey.