‘Only grandmamma. We did not think the omnibus would come in so soon, but I suppose you took a fly, as there were three of you.’ ‘As if we were going to stand six miles of bus with the Wolfe cub! No, Dusautoy brought his horse down with him, and I took a fly!’ said Gilbert. ‘Well, and what’s the matter with Captain; has the Irishman been riding him?’ Sophy bit her lip to prevent an angry answer, and was glad that Maurice rushed in, fall of uproarious joy. ‘Hollo! boy, how you grow! What have you got there?’ ‘It’s my new pop-gun, that Ulick made me, I’ll shoot you,’ cried Maurice, retiring to a suitable distance. ‘I declare the child has caught the brogue! Is the fellow here still?’ ‘What fellow?’ coldly asked Sophy. ‘Why, this pet of my father’s.’ ‘Bang!’ cried Maurice, and a pellet passed perilously close to Gilbert’s eyes. ‘Don’t, child. Pray is this banker’s clerk one of our fixtures, Sophy?’ ‘I don’t know why you despise him, unless it is because it is what you ought to be yourself,’ Sophy was provoked into retorting. ‘Apparently my father has a monomania for the article.’ Gilbert intended to speak with provoking coolness; but another fraternal pellet hit him fall in the nose, and the accompanying shout of glee was too much for an already irritated temper. With passion most unusual in him, he caught hold of the child, and exclaiming, ‘You little imp, what do you mean by it?’ he wrenched the weapon out of his hand, and dashed it into the fire, in the midst of an energetic ‘For shame!’ from his sister. Maurice, with a furious ‘Naughty Gilbert,’ struck at him with both his little fists clenched, and then precipitated himself over the fender to snatch his treasure from the grate, but was instantly captured and pulled back, struggling, kicking, and fighting with all his might, till, to the equal relief of both brothers, Sophy held up the pop-gun in the tongs, one end still tinged with a red glow, smoky, blackened, and perfumed. Maurice made one bound, she lowered it into his grasp as the last red spark died out, and he clasped it as Siegfried did the magic sword! ‘There, Maurice, I didn’t mean it,’ said Gilbert, heartily ashamed and sorry; ‘kiss and make it up, and then put on your hat, and we’ll come up to old Smith’s and get such a jolly one!’ The forgiving child had already given the kiss, glad to atone for his aggressions, but then was absorbed in rubbing the charred wood, amazed that while so much black came off on his fingers, the effect on the weapon was not proportionate, and then tried another shot in a safer direction. ‘Come,’ said Gilbert, ‘put that black affair into the fire, and come along.’ ‘No!’ said Maurice; ‘it is my dear gun that Ulick made me, and it shan’t be burnt.’ ‘What, not if I give you a famous one--like a real one, with a stock and barrel?’ said Gilbert, anxious to be freed from the tokens of his ebullition.