interest in bows and arrows and targets and
successful shots as any of us, he never fitted an arrow to a string,
nor drew a bow. But he attended every meeting, settling disputed
points (for he studied all the books on archery), encouraging the
disheartened, holding back the eager ones who would run to the targets
as soon as they had shot, regardless of the fact that others were still
shooting and that the human body is not arrow-proof, and shedding about
him that general aid and comfort which emanates from a good fellow, no
matter what he may say or do.

There were persons--outsiders--who said that archery clubs always
selected ladies for their presiding officers, but we did not care to be
too much bound down and trammelled by customs and traditions. Another
club might not have among its members such a genial elderly gentleman
who owned a village green.

I soon found myself greatly interested in archery, especially when I
succeeded in planting an arrow somewhere within the periphery of the
target, but I never became such an enthusiast in bow-shooting as my
friend Pepton.

If Pepton could have arranged matters to suit himself, he would have
been born an archer. But as this did not happen to have been the case,
he employed every means in his power to rectify what he considered this
serious error in his construction. He gave his whole soul, and the
greater part of his spare time, to archery, and as he was a young man
of energy, this helped him along wonderfully.

His equipments were perfect. No one could excel him in, this respect.
His bow was snakewood, backed with hickory. He carefully rubbed it
down every evening with oil and beeswax, and it took its repose in a
green baize bag. His arrows were Philip Highfield's best, his strings
the finest Flanders hemp. He had shooting-gloves, and little leather
tips that could be screwed fast on the ends of what he called his
string-fingers. He had a quiver and a belt, and when equipped for the
weekly meetings, he carried a fancy-colored wiping-tassel, and a little
ebony grease-pot hanging from his belt. He wore, when shooting, a
polished arm-guard or bracer, and if he had heard of anything else that
an archer should have, he straightway would have procured it.

Pepton was a single man, and he lived with two good old maiden ladies,
who took as much care of him as if they had been his mothers. And he
was such a good, kind fellow that he deserved all the attention the