hey did Betty. Trying to be as good and
gentle did not satisfy her; she must do something brave or surprising,
and no chance for distinguishing herself in that way seemed likely to
appear. Betty was as fond as ever, and the boys were very kind to her;
but she felt that they both liked "little Betcinda," as they called her,
best, because she found Sanch, and never seemed to know that she had
done any thing brave in defending him against all odds. Bab did not tell
any one how she felt, but endeavored to be amiable, while waiting for
her chance to come; and, when 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 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 any thing but a barn-door now," answered Thorny,
encouragingly.

As the boys vanished, with much tramping of boots and