I went around the barn, and Gramp was just going up the steps to the
house. He had been to Fairport where the big store is, and he had
bought a lot of things that he was carrying in his arms. At first I was
glad because he had bought something that was for me too.
But then I saw some bad pictures mixed with the happy ones--of Gramp
breaking a window in Mr. Van's store when it was dark and going in and
taking something from underneath the brown sugar box.
"You told me you wouldn't take Mr. Van's money. And you did!" I said.
"Ssh," Gramp said. He put his packages on the porch and sat down and
took me on his lap. He took a deep breath. "Remember what I told you
about imagination, Chum?" he asked me. "So you know you're not supposed
to believe all the pictures you see. Now you're Gramp's Chum. And I
want you to promise me again not to tell anyone but me what you see,
and I'll tell you if the pictures are real or not. Promise?"
I promised, and Gramp opened one of the packages. He took out two new
pistols and a belt with double holsters to carry them in. He bent over
and buckled them on me.
"You look just like Hoppy now," he said.