"Once," confessed Ned, reluctantly. "A long time ago. And it kicked me over, and made my lip bleed, and when I came home, and father found out he said it served me right. It was Chuck Donahue's; his big muzzle loader."
"Did you hit anything?" queried Mr. Russell, smiling as he walked away.
"N-n-no," admitted Ned. "At least, there was only one shot-hole, and Chuck said he made it. But I've aimed lots of times," he added, to prove that he was not lacking in experience.
"Here!" called Mr. Russell, looking back. "Keep that gun pointed toward the ground until you're taking aim! I don't want to be speckled all over with lead."
"That makes no difference," retorted Mr. Russell. "Always handle a gun, empty or loaded, cocked or not, as though you expected that it would go off at any moment. That should become a fixed habit. Will you remember--or shall we stop?"
And, barring a few slight lapses, he did.
Mr. Russell balanced the smooth round can on the fence post, and walked to one side.
Ned leveled the piece, and pulled on the trigger. He couldn't budge it.
"Why not cock your gun?" inquired Mr. Russell, quizzically.
Ned blushed. What a number of blunders he had made! Mr. Russell would think him very stupid.
The stock of the gun flew up and jarred his head, but he didn't mind. He peered through the thin smoke. The can had disappeared.
"I hit it! I hit it! I know I hit it!" he cried, setting out on the dead run.
"I should say you did!" assured Mr. Russell, delighted, picking up the can and examining it. "Bravo! Fifteen--sixteen, seventeen! You beat me by one!"
Ned clutched the can, and delivered the gun into cooler keeping. He scanned his trophy inch by inch, and gloated over the many holes. Mr. Russell noted his puffed lip, and smiled.
"If you hadn't taken in me, too, when you swung your gun, to aim," he commented, "you might not have been punished by that lip."
"Oh!" uttered Ned, a little taken aback, and becoming conscious of his bump.
"Next time you'll hold the gun tighter against your shoulder--and be more careful in that other respect, too," said Mr. Russell, simply.
They stayed on the flats for an hour and a half, and used up all of Mr. Russell's cartridges; and when Ned went home he fairly was bursting with information. He carried with him that riddled tin can, and with no small degree of pride showed it to the family and to the boys of the neighborhood. He had hit other cans, during the lesson, but this was the result of his first shot!