The Adventures of Bobby Orde

Bobby knew the way perfectly. You went to the fire-engine house; and then to the left afterthe court-house was Mr. Proctor's; and then, all at once, the town. Father's office was in thenearest square brick block. Bobby paused, as he always did, to look in the first storewindow. In it was a weapon which he knew to be a Flobert Rifle. It was something to bedreamed of, with its beautiful blued-steel octagon barrel, its gleaming gold-plated locks andits polished stock. Bobby was just under ten years old; but he could have told you all aboutthat Flobert Rifle-its weight, the length of its barrel, the number of grains of both powderand lead loaded in its various cartridges. Among his books he possessed a catalogue thatdescribed Flobert Rifles, and also Shotguns and Revolvers. Bobby intoxicated himself withthem. Twice he had even seen his father's revolver; and he knew where it was kept-on thetop shelf of the closet. The very closet door gave him a thrill.