s I have said, there were many good archers among the ladies of our
club. Some of them, after we had been organized for a month or two,
made scores that few of the gentlemen could excel. But the lady who
attracted the greatest attention when she shot was Miss Rosa.

When this very pretty young lady stood up before the ladies'
target--her left side well advanced, her bow firmly held out in her
strong left arm, which never quivered, her head a little bent to the
right, her arrow drawn back by three well-gloved fingers to the tip of
her little ear, her dark eyes steadily fixed upon the gold, and her
dress, well fitted over her fine and vigorous figure, falling in
graceful folds about her feet, we all stopped shooting to look at her.

"There is something statuesque about her," said Pepton, who ardently
admired her, "and yet there isn't. A statue could never equal her
unless we knew there was a probability of movement in it. And the only
statues which have that are the Jarley wax-works, which she does not
resemble in the least. There is only one thing that that girl needs to
make her a perfect archer, and that is to be able to aim better."

This was true. Miss Rosa did need to aim better. Her arrows had a
curious habit of going on all sides of the target, and it was very
seldom that one chanced to stick into it. For if she did make a hit,
we all knew it was chance and that there was no probability of her
doing it again. Once she put an arrow right into the centre of the
gold,--one of the finest shots ever made on the ground,--but she didn't
hit the target again for two weeks. She was almost as bad a shot as
Pepton, and that is saying a good deal.

One evening I was sitting with Pepton on the little front porch of the
old ladies' house, where we were taking our after-dinner smoke while
Miss Martha and Miss Maria were washing, with their own white hands,
the china and glass in which they took so much pride. I often used to
go over and spend an hour with Pepton. He liked to have some one to
whom he could talk on the subjects which filled his soul, and I liked
to hear him talk.

"I tell you," said he, as he leaned back in his chair, with his feet
carefully disposed on the railing so that they would not injure Miss
Maria's Madeira-vine, "I tell you, sir, that there are two things I
crave with all my power of craving--two goals I fain would reach, two
diadems I would wear upon my brow. One of these is to kill an