, they would have taken down the pencilled
profiles of their grandfather, their grandmother, and their father when
a little boy, which hung in a row over the mantelpiece.

However, Pepton did not ask this sacrifice. In the summer evenings the
parlor windows must be open. The dining-room was really very little
used in the evening, except when Miss Maria had stockings to darn, and
then she always sat in that apartment, and of course she had the
windows open. But Miss Maria was very willing to bring her work into
the parlor,--it was foolish, anyway, to have a feeling about darning
stockings before chance company,--and then the dining-room could be
kept shut up after tea. So into the wall of that neat little room
Pepton drove his worsted-covered nails, and on them carefully laid his
bow. All the next day Miss Martha and Miss Maria went about the house,
covering the nail-holes he had made with bits of wallpaper, carefully
snipped out to fit the patterns, and pasted on so neatly that no one
would have suspected they were there.

One afternoon, as I was passing the old ladies' house, saw, or thought
I saw, two men carrying in a coffin. I was struck with alarm.

"What!" I thought. "Can either of those good women-- Or can Pepton--"

Without a moment's hesitation, I rushed in behind the men. There, at
the foot of the stairs, directing them, stood Pepton. Then it was not
he! I seized him sympathetically by the hand.

"Which?" I faltered. "Which? Who is that coffin for?"

"Coffin!" cried Pepton. "Why, my dear fellow, that is not a coffin.
That is my ascham."

"Ascham?" I exclaimed. "What is that?"

"Come and look at it," he said, when the men had set it on end against
the wall. "It is an upright closet or receptacle for an archer's
armament. Here is a place to stand the bow, here are supports for the
arrows and quivers, here are shelves and hooks, on which to lay or hang
everything the merry man can need. You see, moreover, that it is lined
with green plush, that the door fits tightly, so that it can stand
anywhere, and there need be no fear of drafts or dampness affecting my
bow. Isn't it a perfect thing? You ought to get one."

I admitted the perfection, but agreed no further. I had not the income
of my good Pepton.

Pepton was, indeed, most wonderfully well equipped; and yet, little did
those dear old ladies think, when they carefully dusted and
reverentially gazed at the bunches of arrows, the ar