"Till I'm good and ready for him," replied Killis; "I got a dead tree up the hollow I practice on all the time,--there's a band breast-high around it black with bullet-holes. Sometimes I shoot walking, and sometimes running, and sometimes I fetch a nag up and gallop around and shoot. When I get so I never miss, I'll ride over where he lives at and tell him 'I'm Steve Blair's boy,' and shoot him down like a dog, and revenge my paw, and do my duty." [Illustration: "'I got a dead tree up the hollow I practice on all the time.'"] A murmur of quiet approval began with Nucky and passed around the circle. After the other boys went to bed, I finally extracted from Killis a solemn promise not to perform this "duty" before he was eighteen. It was the utmost I could accomplish,--long years of training must do the rest. _Monday._ The first real snow yesterday, and the boys wild in consequence. On our walk up Perilous, they found drifts in which they dived and wallowed. Coming back I noticed that Jason was quite hoarse; and in the middle of the night I was awakened by strange and painful sounds, as if someone were choking to death. The night was cold, the bed warm; I lay and listened a moment longer. Then flinging on wrapper and slippers, I ran across the sitting-room to the upper bedroom. Jason was sitting up in bed, gasping for breath. [Illustration: "The first real snow yesterday, and the boys wild in consequence."] "What is the matter with you?" I asked. "Croup," he croaked, between gasps. "Did you ever have it before?" "I follow havin' it." "Why didn't you tell me it was coming on?" "Afeared you'd whup me." I wrung my hands. "Cleo," I called back, "what in the world should be done for croup?" But for once her resources failed. "Some ties grease around their necks," she said. I have a maxim, "when in doubt try a hot-water-bag". Desperately stirring the fire in my grate, I put on water, and while it was heating spread vaseline on a handkerchief. Then flying back to Jason, I slapped first the handkerchief, then the hot bag, upon his chest. Apparently the child was choking to death,--I was terribly frightened,--the water may have been a little over-hot. At any rate, between chokes, my "little pet" raised the most roof-splitting yells. "Take it off! Take it off! Paw he gits me pole-cat-grease!" All the boys jumped out of their beds and came running. Jason fought me like a little tiger; but grabbing him by the hair, I held the bag on with all my might. His yells increased. "Oh, God, she's a-killing me! Oh, God, she's a-burning me up! Oh, God, gimme pole-cat-grease, pole-cat-grease, po--_ole_-cat-grease!" It was an awful moment; but I held my ground and the bag. In a few seconds, which seemed ages, the cries and chokes lessened, the breathing became quieter, the tense little frame relaxed, and danger was past.