Godfrey Berkeley had some very positive ideas about what a boy ought to do and ought to learn, but there was nothing of undue strictness or severity in his treatment of his nephew, whom he looked upon as his adopted son. One pleasant evening in July, Godfrey Berkeley was stretched out upon a cane-seated lounge in the great hall, quietly smoking his after-supper pipe, when Philip came hurriedly tramping in. “Uncle,” he said, “won’t you lend me Old Bruden to-morrow? Chap Webster and I want to go up the creek, and, if this weather lasts, perhaps we’ll camp out for a night, if you’ll let us have the little tent.” Now, Philip had a gun of his own, but it was a small gun and a single-barrelled one; and as Chapman Webster, his best-loved friend, always carried a double-barrelled gun when they went out on their expeditions, Philip on such occasions generally borrowed Old Bruden. To be sure, he seldom used the left-hand barrel, but it was always there if he needed it and chose to take the chances of the hammer coming down. It might have been supposed that Mr. Godfrey Berkeley, who in former years had done so much travelling and hunting, would have had a better fowling-piece than Old Bruden; but as he now often wandered all day with a gun upon his shoulder without firing a single shot, Old Bruden would have served him very well, even if neither hammer ever came down. Philip’s requests were generally very reasonable, and his uncle seldom refused them, but this evening Mr. Berkeley seemed disturbed by the boy’s words. For a few moments he said nothing, and then he took his pipe from his mouth and sat up. “It seems curious, Phil,” he said, “that you should want Old Bruden to-morrow, and should be thinking of camping out. It’s really remarkable; you haven’t done such a thing for ever so long!” “That’s because the weather hasn’t been good enough,” said Philip, “or else Chap Webster couldn’t go. But if you are going to use Old Bruden yourself, uncle, of course I don’t want it.” “Oh, it isn’t that,” said Mr. Berkeley, laughing a little. “But I do not want you to take the gun to-morrow, especially on any long expedition.” “Is anything the matter with it?” asked Phil, his eyes wide open. “Has it cracked anywhere?” “I don’t know, indeed,” said Mr. Berkeley, “for it is so long since I fired Old Bruden that I can say very little about it. But I want you to understand, my boy,” he said, more seriously, “that you should never use a gun unless you know for yourself that it is in good condition. You ought to be able to tell me whether or not there is anything the matter with Old Bruden.” “Oh, I always look it over before I take it out,” said Phil. “But I thought you might just have found out something about the gun.”