it did arrive made the most of it, though there
was nothing heroic to add a charm.

Miss Celia's arm had been doing very well, but it would, of course, be
useless for some time longer. Finding that the afternoon readings amused
herself as much as they did the children, she kept them up, and brought
out all her old favorites, enjoying a double pleasure in seeing that her
young audience relished them as much as she did when a child; for to all
but Thorny they were brand new. Out of one of these stories came much
amusement for all, and satisfaction for one of the party.

"Celia, did you bring our old bows?" asked her brother, eagerly, as she
put down the book from which she had been reading Miss Edgeworth's
capital story of "Waste not Want not; or, Two Strings to your Bow."

"Yes, I brought all the playthings we left stored away in uncle's garret
when we went abroad. The bows are in the long box where you found the
mallets, fishing-rods and bats. The old quivers and a few arrows are
there also, I believe. What is the idea now?" asked Miss Celia in her
turn, as Thorny bounced up in a great hurry.

"I'm going to teach Ben to shoot. Grand fun this hot weather, and by and
by we'll have an archery meeting, and you can give us a prize. Come on,
Ben. I've got plenty of whip-cord to rig up the bows, and then we'll
show the ladies some first-class shooting."

"_I_ can't; never had a decent bow in my life. The little gilt one I
used to wave round when I was a Coopid wasn't worth a cent to go,"
answered Ben, feeling as if that painted "prodigy" must have been a very
distant connection of the respectable young person now walking off
arm-in-arm with the lord of the manor.

"Practice is all you want. I used to be a capital shot, but I don't
believe I could hit anything but a barn-door now," answered Thorny,
encouragingly.

As the boys vanished, with much tramping of boots and banging of doors,
Bab observed, in the young-ladyish tone she was apt to use when she
composed her active little mind and body to the feminine task of
needlework:

"We used to make bows of whalebone when we were little girls, but we are
too old to play so now."

"I'd like to, but Bab wont, 'cause she's most 'leven years old," said
honest Betty, placidly rubbing her needle in the "ruster," as she called
the family emery-bag.

"Grown people enjoy archery, as bow and arrow shooting is called,
especially in England. I was reading about it the other day, an