Christopher turned and looked at him suddenly. "What would you
say to going 'possum hunting one night?" he asked in a queer
voice.

"Whoopee!" cried the boy, tossing his hat in the air. "Will you
take me?"

"Well, it's hard work, you know," went on the other thoughtfully.
"You'd have to get up in the middle of the night and steal out of
the window without your grandfather's knowing it."

"I should say so!"

"We'd tramp till morning, probably, with the hounds, and Tom
Spade would come along to bring his lanterns. Then when it was
over we'd wind up for drinks at his store. It's great sport, I
tell you, but it takes a man to stand it."

"Oh, I'm man enough by now."

"Not according to your grandfather's thinking."

"What does he know about it? He's just an old fogy himself."

"We'll see, we'll see. If he wants to keep you tied to nurse's
strings too long, we must play him a trick. Why, when I was
fourteen I could shoot with any man about here--and drink with
him, too, for that matter. Nobody kept me back, you see."