she ran, lipperty-lipperty-lip, to get a few shooting rifles.

"Oh goody goody," cried little Emily. "Now we can all shoot at
those horrid Revenue Officers," for the collectors of internal
revenue were far from popular with these kindly Pennsylvania folk
and Aunt Polly Pinkwood had often promised the children that if
they were good some day they would be allowed to take a shot at a
Revenue Officer.

Soon she returned, bearing in her arms a number of bright shiny
new guns. The children crowded around in glee and soon all were
supplied with weapons except little Frank who of course was too
young to use a gun and was given a two-gallon jug of nice, old
whisky to carry. Jed hitched up old Taylor, the faithful farm
horse, and as quick as you could say Jack Robinson the little
ones had piled into the old carryall. Round Mr. Sun was just
peeping over the Purple Hills when the merry little party started
on its way, singing and laughing at the prospect of the day's
sport.

"I bet I kill five Revenue Officers," said little Edgar.

"Ha Ha Ha--you boaster, you," laughed Aunt Polly. "You will be
lucky if you kill two, for I fear they will be hard to find
today."

"Oh do you think so, Aunt Polly?" said little Elinor and she
began to cry, for Elinor dearly loved to shoot.

"Hush dear," said Miss Pinkwood with a kindly pat, for she loved