"Do
you suppose you can hit a moose?"
"I have my doubts, _mon Pere_."
Father Roland gave vent to his curious chuckle.
"I have promised to make a marksman of you in exchange for your--your
trouble in teaching me how to use the gloves," he said, polishing
furiously. There was a twinkle in his eyes, as if a moment before he had
been laughing to himself. The gloves were on the table. He had been
examining them again, and David found himself smiling at the childlike
and eager interest he had taken in them. Suddenly Father Roland rubbed
still a little faster, and said:
"If you can't hit a moose with a bullet you surely can hit me with these
gloves--eh?"
"Yes, quite positively. But I shall be merciful if you, in turn, show
some charity in teaching me how to shoot."
The Little Missioner finished his polishing, set the rifle against the
wall, and took the gloves in his hands.
"It is bright--almost like day--outside," he said a little yearningly.
"Are you--tired?"
His hint was obvious, even to Mukoki, who stared at him from under his
blanket. And David was not tired. If his afternoon's work had fatigued
him his exhaustion was forgotten in the mental excitement that had
followed the Missioner's story of Tavish.
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