Sam laid eager hold upon his rifle; then, of a sudden, seemed to be seized by scorn of it. After all, it was never meant for big game. Why, with its short cartridges and light charges of powder, it was hardly more than a toy! Really, it was intended for target practice. “Yet, for all that, it’s a rifle,” said the boy to himself. It was odd how, once his prejudice was aroused, arguments presented themselves to strengthen his objections. “And the law says you can’t hunt deer with rifles.” Here he was speaking by the book. The statute, which provided an open season from December 1st to December 15th, also forbade the use of rifles by sportsmen. Possibly a very lenient judge might have held that Sam’s “pop-gun” hardly classed with the high-power, long-range weapons against which the law was aimed, and might have deemed it annoying rather than dangerous to two-footed or four-footed creatures; but Sam, at the moment, was not disposed to be liberal in his interpretation. He restored the piece to its place. He picked up the shotgun. Temptation was strong upon him. Wasn’t it true that if he had not been told that he could use the gun he also had not been expressly forbidden to lay hands upon it? Nothing had been said about it either way. And didn’t his father wish him to have some knowledge of firearms? Of course he did! Oh, but it was a wonderfully persuasive voice, which seemed to be whispering in his ear! It was so seductive that it frightened him--a very, very little. Sam hastily put down the gun. Yet he lingered in its neighborhood. Half absently he opened a drawer in his father’s desk. There, in a corner, was a paper box, labeled “3-1/4 drams, smokeless; shot 00.” Cartridges for deer shooting! Surely here was Fate’s own finger pointing the way. The boy drew a long breath. He lifted the cover of the box; took out half a dozen of the cartridges; thrust them into a pocket. Then he caught up the shotgun, and strode out of the library. There was nobody to halt him or question him. Maggie was fully occupied in the kitchen, and his mother had not returned. Leaving the house by the front door, he avoided chance of observation by Lon Gates, who still was at work in the barn. Not that Lon would have stopped him; for the hired man would have supposed him to be sallying forth with his mother’s permission. Nevertheless, Sam preferred to have his going unnoted. He turned the corner of the house--the corner away from the barn; stole back through the yard; climbed a fence, and found himself in a narrow lane. It led to a side street, which, in turn, brought him to a road running into the country.