"I didn't think it was half as heavy.

There must be a pound of bullets inside.

Now," he said to himself, "suppose a big thafe was to poke his dirty head in at the winder and say, 'Give me all your money, or I'll break your head'-- I'd put up with the gun and point at him this way." Here Andy brought the gun into position with some difficulty and put his finger near the trigger.
"And I'd say," continued Andy, rehearsing his part, "'Jump down, you thafe, or I'll put a bullet through your head.'" At that unlucky moment his finger accidentally pulled the trigger, and instantly there was a tremendous report, the noise being increased by the shattering of the window panes by the bullet.
Probably the charge was too heavy, for the gun "kicked," and Andy, to his astonishment, found himself lying flat on his back on the floor, with the gun lying beside him.
"Oh, murder!" ejaculated the bewildered boy, "is it dead I am?
Shure, the divil's in the gun.

What will the ould wimmen say?
They'll think it's bloody burglars gettin' into the house.

Shure, I'll slip on my pants, for they'll be coming to see what's happened." He picked himself up, and slipped on his pants.