smile of incredulity. "I never heard of but one that did, and he was a
little _swinge_ cat. He was born a shooting, and killed squirrels before
he was weaned."

"Nor did _I_ ever hear of but one," replied I, "and that one was
myself."

"And where did you win beef so young, stranger?"

"At Berry Adams's."

"Why, stop, stranger, let me look at you good! Is your name _Lyman_
Hall?"

"The very same," said I.

"Well, dang my buttons, if you ain't the very boy my daddy used to tell
me about. I was too young to recollect you myself; but I've heard daddy
talk about you many a time. I believe mammy's got a neck-handkerchief
now that daddy won on your shooting at Collen Reid's store, when you
were hardly knee high. Come along, Lyman, and I'll go my death upon you
at the shooting-match, with the old Soap-stick at your shoulder."

"Ah, Billy," said I, "the old Soap-stick will do much better at your own
shoulder. It was my mother's notion that sent me to the shooting-match
at Berry Adams's; and, to tell the honest truth, it was altogether a
chance shot that made me win beef; but that wasn't generally known; and
most everybody believed that I was carried there on account of my skill
in shooting; and my fame was spread far and wide, I well remember. I
remember, too, perfectly well, your father's bet on me at the store.