y
gave him. They felt a great interest in his archery pursuits, and
shared his anxious solicitude in the selection of a suitable place to
hang his bow.

"You see," said he, "a fine bow like this, when not in use, should
always be in a perfectly dry place."

"And when in use, too," said Miss Martha, "for I am sure that you
oughtn't to be standing and shooting in any damp spot. There's no
surer way of gettin' chilled."

To which sentiment Miss Maria agreed, and suggested wearing rubber
shoes, or having a board to stand on, when the club met after a rain.

Pepton first hung his bow in the hall, but after he had arranged it
symmetrically upon two long nails (bound with green worsted, lest they
should scratch the bow through its woollen cover), he reflected that
the front door would frequently be open, and that damp drafts must
often go through the hall. He was sorry to give up this place for his
bow, for it was convenient and appropriate, and for an instant he
thought that it might remain, if the front door could be kept shut, and
visitors admitted through a little side door which the family generally
used, and which was almost as convenient as the other--except, indeed,
on wash-days, when a wet sheet or some article of wearing apparel was
apt to be hung in front of it. But although wash-day occurred but once
a week, and although it was comparatively easy, after a little
practice, to bob under a high-propped sheet, Pepton's heart was too
kind to allow his mind to dwell upon this plan. So he drew the nails
from the wall of the hall, and put them up in various places about the
house. His own room had to be aired a great deal in all weathers, and
so that would not do at all. The wall above the kitchen fireplace
would be a good location, for the chimney was nearly always warm. But
Pepton could not bring himself to keep his bow in the kitchen. There
would be nothing esthetic about such a disposition of it, and, besides,
the girl might be tempted to string and bend it. The old ladies really
did not want it in the parlor, for its length and its green baize cover
would make it an encroaching and unbecoming neighbor to the little
engravings and the big samplers, the picture-frames of acorns and
pine-cones, the fancifully patterned ornaments of clean wheat straw,
and all the quaint adornments which had hung upon those walls for so
many years. But they did not say so. If it had been necessary, to
make room for the bow