Maisie took the pistol and stepped delicately to the verge of the mud, her hand firmly closed on the butt, her mouth and left eye screwed up. Dick sat down on a tuft of bank and laughed. Amomma returned very cautiously. He was accustomed to strange experiences in his afternoon walks, and, finding the cartridge-box unguarded, made investigations with his nose. Maisie turned, the revolver in her hand, just in time to see Amomma scampering away from the pebbles Dick threw after him.
Nothing is sacred to a billy-goat.
Being well fed and the adored of his mistress, Amomma had naturally swallowed two loaded pin-fire cartridges. Then they'll joggle about inside him and blow up, and serve him right. . . . Revolvers are tricky things for young hands to deal with. Maisie could not explain how it had happened, but a veil of reeking smoke separated her from Dick, and she was quite certain that the pistol had gone off in his face. But you nearly blinded me.