Chapter FiveI had never seen Father look so serious. He took the pistol from the drawer in which it had resided for many months, laid it on the table in front of him and began to clean it. I watched with some apprehension.
'Father, what are you doing?'
He looked up. 'Cleaning my pistol,' his smile was forced. 'Don't look so worried, Mary. It's only a precaution. I doubt I'll need it.'
'Father,' I asked. 'Where are you going? Why are you taking a gun? You never carry a gun.'
'Hold that will you?' Father asked. 'It's not easy loading with only one hand.'
I held the heavy, old-fashioned pistol as he loaded it, tamping down the powder and rolling in the ball before ramming down the wad to keep it secure.
'Do you remember these whisky smugglers I had before me on the bench the other day?'
