Our Archery Club

by Frank Stockton

When an archery club was formed in our village, I was among thefirst to join it. But I should not, on this account, claim anyextraordinary enthusiasm on the subject of archery, for nearlyall the ladies and gentlemen of the place were also among thefirst to join.Few of us, I think, had a correct idea of the popularity ofarchery in our midst until the subject of a club was broached.Then we all perceived what a strong interest we felt in the studyand use of the bow and arrow. The club was formed immediately,and our thirty members began to discuss the relative merits oflancewood, yew, and greenheart bows, and to survey yards andlawns for suitable spots for setting up targets for homepractice.Our weekly meetings, at which we came together to show infriendly contest how much our home practice had taught us, wereheld upon the village green, or rather upon what had beenintended to be the village green. This pretty piece of ground,partly in smooth lawn and partly shaded by fine trees, was theproperty of a gentleman of the place, who had presented it, undercertain conditions, to the township. But as the township hadnever fulfilled any of the conditions, and had done nothingtoward the improvement of the spot, further than to make it agrazing-place for local cows and goats, the owner had withdrawnhis gift, shut out the cows and goats by a picket fence, and,having locked the gate, had hung up the key in his barn. Whenour club was formed, the green, as it was still called, wasoffered to us for our meetings, and, with proper gratitude, weelected its owner to be our president.This gentleman was eminently qualified for the presidency ofan archery club. In the first place, he did not shoot: this gavehim time and opportunity to attend to the shooting of others. Hewas a tall and pleasant man, a little elderly. This"elderliness," if I may so put it, seemed, in his case, toresemble some mild disorder, like a gentle rheumatism, which,while it prevented him from indulging in all the wild hilaritiesof youth, gave him, in compensation, a position, as one entitledto a certain consideration, which was very agreeable to him. Hislittle disease was chronic, it is true, and it was growing uponhim; but it was, so far, a pleasant ailment.And so, with as much interest in bows and arrows and targetsand successful shots as any of us, he never fitted an arrow to astring, nor drew a bow. But he attended every meeting, settlingdisputed points (for he studied all the books on archery),encouraging the disheartened, holding back the eager ones whowould run to the targets as soon as they had shot, regardless ofthe fact that others were still shooting and that the human bodyis not arrow-proof, and shedding about him that general aid andcomfort which emanates from a good fellow, no matter what he maysay or do.There were persons--outsiders--who said that archery clubsalways selected ladies for their presiding officers, but we didnot care to be too much bound down and trammelled by customs andtraditions. Another club might not have among its members such agenial elderly gentleman who owned a village green.I soon found myself greatly interested in archery, especiallywhen I succeeded in planting an arrow somewhere within theperiphery of the target, but I never became such an enthusiast inbow-shooting as my friend Pepton.If Pepton could have arranged matters to suit himself, hewould have been born an archer. But as this did not happen tohave been the case, he employed every means in his power torectify what he considered this serious error in hisconstruction. He gave his whole soul, and the greater part ofhis spare time, to archery, and as he was a young man of energy,this helped him along wonderfully.His equipments were perfect. No one could excel him in, thisrespect. His bow was snakewood, backed with hickory. Hecarefully rubbed it down every evening with oil and beeswax, andit took its repose in a green baize bag. His arrows were PhilipHighfield's best, his strings the finest Flanders hemp. He hadshooting-gloves, and little leather tips that could be screwedfast on the ends of what he called his string-fingers. He had aquiver and a belt, and when equipped for the weekly meetings, hecarried a fancy-colored wiping-tassel, and a little ebony grease-pot hanging from his belt. He wore, when shooting, a polishedarm-guard or bracer, and if he had heard of anything else that anarcher should have, he straightway would have procured it.Pepton was a single man, and he lived with two good oldmaiden ladies, who took as much care of him as if they had beenhis mothers. And he was such a good, kind fellow that hedeserved all the attention they gave him. They felt a greatinterest in his archery pursuits, and shared his anxioussolicitude 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 thatyou 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 wearingrubber shoes, or having a board to stand on, when the club metafter a rain.Pepton first hung his bow in the hall, but after he hadarranged it symmetrically upon two long nails (bound with greenworsted, lest they should scratch the bow through its woollencover), he reflected that the front door would frequently beopen, and that damp drafts must often go through the hall. Hewas sorry to give up this place for his bow, for it wasconvenient and appropriate, and for an instant he thought that itmight remain, if the front door could be kept shut, and visitorsadmitted through a little side door which the family generallyused, and which was almost as convenient as the other--except,indeed, on wash-days, when a wet sheet or some article of wearingapparel was apt to be hung in front of it. But although wash-dayoccurred but once a week, and although it was comparativelyeasy, after a little practice, to bob under a high-propped sheet,Pepton's heart was too kind to allow his mind to dwell upon thisplan. So he drew the nails from the wall of the hall, and putthem up in various places about the house. His own room had tobe aired a great deal in all weathers, and so that would not doat all. The wall above the kitchen fireplace would be a goodlocation, for the chimney was nearly always warm. But Peptoncould not bring himself to keep his bow in the kitchen. Therewould be nothing esthetic about such a disposition of it, and,besides, the girl might be tempted to string and bend it. Theold ladies really did not want it in the parlor, for its lengthand its green baize cover would make it an encroaching andunbecoming neighbor to the little engravings and the bigsamplers, the picture-frames of acorns and pine-cones, thefancifully patterned ornaments of clean wheat straw, and all thequaint adornments which had hung upon those walls for so manyyears. But they did not say so. If it had been necessary, tomake room for the bow, they would have taken down the pencilledprofiles of their grandfather, their grandmother, and theirfather when a little boy, which hung in a row over themantelpiece.However, Pepton did not ask this sacrifice. In the summerevenings the parlor windows must be open. The dining-room wasreally very little used in the evening, except when Miss Mariahad stockings to darn, and then she always sat in that apartment,and of course she had the windows open. But Miss Maria was verywilling to bring her work into the parlor,--it was foolish,anyway, to have a feeling about darning stockings beforechance company,--and then the dining-room could be kept shut upafter tea. So into the wall of that neat little room Peptondrove his worsted-covered nails, and on them carefully laid hisbow. All the next day Miss Martha and Miss Maria went about thehouse, covering the nail-holes he had made with bits of wall-paper, carefully snipped out to fit the patterns, and pasted onso 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 struckwith alarm."What!" I thought. "Can either of those good women-- Or canPepton--"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 acoffin. That is my ascham.""Ascham?" I exclaimed. "What is that?""Come and look at it," he said, when the men had set it onend against the wall. "It is an upright closet or receptacle foran archer's armament. Here is a place to stand the bow, here aresupports for the arrows and quivers, here are shelves and hooks,on which to lay or hang everything the merry man can need. Yousee, moreover, that it is lined with green plush, that the doorfits tightly, so that it can stand anywhere, and there need be nofear of drafts or dampness affecting my bow. Isn't it aperfect thing? You ought to get one."I admitted the perfection, but agreed no further. I had notthe income of my good Pepton.Pepton was, indeed, most wonderfully well equipped; and yet,little did those dear old ladies think, when they carefullydusted and reverentially gazed at the bunches of arrows, the arm-bracers, the gloves, the grease-pots, and all the rest of theparaphernalia of archery, as it hung around Pepton's room, orwhen they afterwards allowed a particular friend to peep at it,all arranged so orderly within the ascham, or when they lookedwith sympathetic, loving admiration on the beautiful polishedbow, when it was taken out of its bag--little did they think, Isay, that Pepton was the very poorest shot in the club. In allthe surface of the much-perforated targets of the club, there wasscarcely a hole that he could put his hand upon his heart and sayhe made.Indeed, I think it was the truth that Pepton was born not tobe an archer. There were young fellows in the club who shot withbows that cost no more than Pepton's tassels, but who could standup and whang arrows into the targets all the afternoon, if theycould get a chance; and there were ladies who made hits fivetimes out of six; and there were also all the grades of archerscommon to any club. But there was no one but himself in Pepton'sgrade. He stood alone, and it was never any trouble to add uphis score.Yet he was not discouraged. He practised every day exceptSundays, and indeed he was the only person in the club whopractised at night. When he told me about this, I was a littlesurprised."Why, it's easy enough," said he. "You see, I hung alantern, with a reflector, before the target, just a little toone side. It lighted up the target beautifully, and I believethere was a better chance of hitting it than by daylight, for theonly thing you could see was the target, and so your attentionwas not distracted. To be sure," he said, in answer to aquestion, "it was a good deal of trouble to find the arrows, butthat I always have. When I get so expert that I can put all thearrows into the target, there will be no trouble of the kind,night or day. However," he continued, "I don't practise any moreby night. The other evening I sent an arrow slam-bang into thelantern, and broke it all to flinders. Borrowed lantern, too.Besides, I found it made Miss Martha very nervous to have meshooting about the house after dark. She had a friend who had alittle boy who was hit in the leg by an arrow from a bow, which,she says, accidentally went off in the night, of its own accord.She is certainly a little mixed in her mind in regard to thismatter, but I wish to respect her feelings, and so shall not useanother lantern."As I have said, there were many good archers among the ladiesof our club. Some of them, after we had been organized for amonth or two, made scores that few of the gentlemen could excel.But the lady who attracted the greatest attention when she shotwas Miss Rosa.When this very pretty young lady stood up before the ladies'target--her left side well advanced, her bow firmly held out inher strong left arm, which never quivered, her head a littlebent to the right, her arrow drawn back by three well-glovedfingers to the tip of her little ear, her dark eyes steadilyfixed upon the gold, and her dress, well fitted over her fine andvigorous figure, falling in graceful folds about her feet, we allstopped shooting to look at her."There is something statuesque about her," said Pepton, whoardently admired her, "and yet there isn't. A statue could neverequal her unless we knew there was a probability of movement init. And the only statues which have that are the Jarley wax-works, which she does not resemble in the least. There is onlyone thing that that girl needs to make her a perfect archer, andthat is to be able to aim better."This was true. Miss Rosa did need to aim better. Her arrowshad a curious habit of going on all sides of the target, and itwas very seldom that one chanced to stick into it. For if shedid make a hit, we all knew it was chance and that there was noprobability of her doing it again. Once she put an arrow rightinto the centre of the gold,--one of the finest shots ever madeon the ground,--but she didn't hit the target again for twoweeks. She was almost as bad a shot as Pepton, and that issaying a good deal.One evening I was sitting with Pepton on the little frontporch of the old ladies' house, where we were taking our after-dinner smoke while Miss Martha and Miss Maria were washing, withtheir own white hands, the china and glass in which they took somuch pride. I often used to go over and spend an hour withPepton. He liked to have some one to whom he could talk on thesubjects which filled his soul, and I liked to hear him talk."I tell you," said he, as he leaned back in his chair, withhis feet carefully disposed on the railing so that they would notinjure Miss Maria's Madeira-vine, "I tell you, sir, that thereare two things I crave with all my power of craving--two goals Ifain would reach, two diadems I would wear upon my brow. One ofthese is to kill an eagle--or some large bird--with a shaft frommy good bow. I would then have it stuffed and mounted, with thevery arrow that killed it still sticking in its breast. Thistrophy of my skill I would have fastened against the wall of myroom or my hall, and I would feel proud to think that mygrandchildren could point to that bird--which I would carefullybequeath to my descendants--and say, `My grand'ther shot thatbird, and with that very arrow.' Would it not stir your pulsesif you could do a thing like that?""I should have to stir them up a good deal before I could doit," I replied. "It would be a hard thing to shoot an eagle withan arrow. If you want a stuffed bird to bequeath, you'd betteruse a rifle.""A rifle!" exclaimed Pepton. "There would be no glory inthat. There are lots of birds shot with rifles--eagles, hawks,wild geese, tomtits--""Oh, no!" I interrupted, "not tomtits.""Well, perhaps they are too little for a rifle," said he. "Butwhat I mean to say is that I wouldn't care at all for an eagle Ihad shot with a rifle. You couldn't show the ball that killedhim. If it were put in properly, it would be inside, where itcouldn't be seen. No, sir. It is ever so much more honorable,and far more difficult, too, to hit an eagle than to hit atarget.""That is very true," I answered, "especially in these days, whenthere are so few eagles and so many targets. But what is yourother diadem?""That," said Pepton, "is to see Miss Rosa wear the badge.""Indeed!" said I. And from that moment I began to understandPepton's hopes in regard to the grandmother of those children whoshould point to the eagle."Yes, sir," he continued, "I should be truly happy to see herwin the badge. And she ought to win it. No one shoots morecorrectly, and with a better understanding of all the rules, thanshe does. There must truly be something the matter with heraiming. I've half a mind to coach her a little."I turned aside to see who was coming down the road. I wouldnot have had him know I smiled.The most objectionable person in our club was O. J.Hollingsworth. He was a good enough fellow in himself, but itwas as an archer that we objected to him.There was, so far as I know, scarcely a rule of archery thathe did not habitually violate. Our president and nearly all ofus remonstrated with him, and Pepton even went to see him on thesubject, but it was all to no purpose. With a quiet disregard ofother people's ideas about bow-shooting and other people'sopinions about himself, he persevered in a style of shootingwhich appeared absolutely absurd to any one who knew anything ofthe rules and methods of archery.I used to like to look at him when his turn came around toshoot. He was not such a pleasing object of vision as Miss Rosa,but his style was so entirely novel to me that it wasinteresting. He held the bow horizontally, instead ofperpendicularly, like other archers, and he held it welldown--about opposite his waistband. He did not draw his arrowback to his ear, but he drew it back to the lower button of hisvest. Instead of standing upright, with his left side to thetarget, he faced it full, and leaned forward over his arrow, inan attitude which reminded me of a Roman soldier about to fallupon his sword. When he had seized the nock of his arrow betweenhis finger and thumb, he languidly glanced at the target, raisedhis bow a little, and let fly. The provoking thing about it wasthat he nearly always hit. If he had only known how to stand,and hold his bow, and draw back his arrow, he would have been avery good archer. But, as it was, we could not help laughing athim, although our president always discountenanced anything ofthe kind.Our champion was a tall man, very cool and steady, who wentto work at archery exactly as if he were paid a salary, andintended to earn his money honestly. He did the best he could inevery way. He generally shot with one of the bows owned by theclub, but if any one on the ground had a better one, he wouldborrow it. He used to shoot sometimes with Pepton's bow, whichhe declared to be a most capital one. But as Pepton was alwaysvery nervous when he saw his bow in the hands of another thanhimself, the champion soon ceased to borrow it.There were two badges, one of green silk and gold for theladies, and one of green and red for the gentlemen, and thesewere shot for at each weekly meeting. With the exception of afew times when the club was first formed, the champion had alwaysworn the gentlemen's badge. Many of us tried hard to win itfrom him, but we never could succeed; he shot too well.On the morning of one of our meeting days, the champion toldme, as I was going to the city with him, that he would not beable to return at his usual hour that afternoon. He would bevery busy, and would have to wait for the six-fifteen train,which would bring him home too late for the archery meeting. Sohe gave me the badge, asking me to hand it to the president, thathe might bestow it on the successful competitor that afternoon.We were all rather glad that the champion was obliged to beabsent. Here was a chance for some one of us to win the badge.It was not, indeed, an opportunity for us to win a great deal ofhonor, for if the champion were to be there we should have nochance at all. But we were satisfied with this much, having noreason--in the present, at least--to expect anything more.So we went to the targets with a new zeal, and most of usshot better than we had ever shot before. In this number was O.J. Hollingsworth. He excelled himself, and, what was worse, heexcelled all the rest of us. He actually made a score of eighty-five in twenty-four shots, which at that time was remarkably goodshooting, for our club. This was dreadful! To have a fellow whodidn't know how to shoot beat us all was too bad. If any visitorwho knew anything at all of archery should see that the memberwho wore the champion's badge was a man who held his bow as if hehad the stomach-ache, it would ruin our character as a club. Itwas not to be borne.Pepton in particular felt greatly outraged. We had metvery promptly that afternoon, and had finished our regularshooting much earlier than usual; and now a knot of us weregathered together, talking over this unfortunate occurrence."I don't intend to stand it," Pepton suddenly exclaimed. "Ifeel it as a personal disgrace. I'm going to have the championhere before dark. By the rules, he has a right to shoot untilthe president declares it is too late. Some of you fellows stayhere, and I'll bring him."And away he ran, first giving me charge of his precious bow.There was no need of his asking us to stay. We were bound to seethe fun out, and to fill up the time our president offered aspecial prize of a handsome bouquet from his gardens, to be shotfor by the ladies.Pepton ran to the railroad station, and telegraphed to thechampion. This was his message:"You are absolutely needed here. If possible, take the five-thirty train for Ackford. I will drive over for you. Answer."There was no train before the six-fifteen by which thechampion could come directly to our village; but Ackford, a smalltown about three miles distant, was on another railroad, on whichthere were frequent afternoon trains.The champion answered:"All right. Meet me."Then Pepton rushed to our livery stable, hired a horse andbuggy, and drove to Ackford.A little after half-past six, when several of us werebeginning to think that Pepton had failed in his plans, hedrove rapidly into the grounds, making a very short turn at thegate, and pulled up his panting horse just in time to avoidrunning over three ladies, who were seated on the grass. Thechampion was by his side!The latter lost no time in talking or salutations. He knewwhat he had been brought there to do, and he immediately setabout trying to do it. He took Pepton's bow, which the latterurged upon him. He stood up, straight and firm on the line, atthirty-five yards from the gentlemen's target; he carefullyselected his arrows, examining the feathers and wiping away anybit of soil that might be adhering to the points after some onehad shot them into the turf; with vigorous arm he drew each arrowto its head; he fixed his eyes and his whole mind on the centreof the target; he shot his twenty-four arrows, handed to him, oneby one, by Pepton, and he made a score of ninety-one.The whole club had been scoring the shots, as they were made,and when the last arrow plumped into the red ring, a cheer arosefrom every member excepting three: the champion, the president,and O. J. Hollingsworth. But Pepton cheered loudly enough tomake up these deficiencies."What in the mischief did they cheer him for?" askedHollingsworth of me. "They didn't cheer me when I beat everybodyon the grounds an hour ago. And it's no new thing for him to winthe badge; he does it every time.""Well," said I, frankly, "I think the club, AS a club, objects toyour wearing the badge, because you don't know how to shoot.""Don't know how to shoot!" he cried. "Why, I can hit thetarget better than any of you. Isn't that what you try to dowhen you shoot?""Yes," said I, "of course that is what we try to do. But wetry to do it in the proper way.""Proper grandmother!" he exclaimed. "It doesn't seem to helpyou much. The best thing you fellows can do is to learn to shootmy way, and then perhaps you may be able to hit oftener."When the champion had finished shooting he went home to hisdinner, but many of us stood about, talking over our greatescape."I feel as if I had done that myself," said Pepton. "I amalmost as proud as if I had shot--well, not an eagle, but asoaring lark.""Why, that ought to make you prouder than the other," said I,"for a lark, especially when it's soaring, must be a good dealharder to hit than an eagle.""That's so," said Pepton, reflectively. "But I'll stick tothe lark. I'm proud."During the next month our style of archery improved very much, somuch, indeed, that we increased our distance, for gentlemen, toforty yards, and that for ladies to thirty, and also had seriousthoughts of challenging the Ackford club to a match. But as thiswas generally understood to be a crack club, we finallydetermined to defer our challenge until the next season.When I say we improved, I do not mean all of us. I do not meanMiss Rosa. Although her attitudes were as fine as ever, andevery motion as true to rule as ever, she seldom made a hit.Pepton actually did try to teach her how to aim, but the variousmethods of pointing the arrow which he suggested resulted insuch wild shooting that the boys who picked up the arrows neverdared to stick the points of their noses beyond their boardedbarricade during Miss Rosa's turns at the target. But she wasnot discouraged, and Pepton often assured her that if she wouldkeep up a good heart, and practise regularly, she would get thebadge yet. As a rule, Pepton was so honest and truthful that alittle statement of this kind, especially under thecircumstances, might be forgiven him.One day Pepton came to me and announced that he had made adiscovery."It's about archery," he said, "and I don't mind telling you,because I know you will not go about telling everybody else, andalso because I want to see you succeed as an archer.""I am very much obliged," I said, "and what is the discovery?""It's this," he answered. "When you draw your bow, bring thenock of your arrow"--he was always very particular abouttechnical terms--"well up to your ear. Having done that, don'tbother any more about your right hand. It has nothing to do withthe correct pointing of your arrow, for it must be kept close toyour right ear, just as if it were screwed there. Then with yourleft hand bring around the bow so that your fist--with the arrow-head, which is resting on top of it--shall point, as nearly asyou can make it, directly at the centre of the target. Then letfly, and ten to one you'll make a hit. Now, what do you think ofthat for a discovery? I've thoroughly tested the plan, and itworks splendidly.""I think," said I, "that you have discovered the way inwhich good archers shoot. You have stated the correct method ofmanaging a bow and arrow.""Then you don't think it's an original method with me?""Certainly not," I answered."But it's the correct way?""There's no doubt of that," said I."Well," said Pepton, "then I shall make it my way."He did so, and the consequence was that one day, when thechampion happened to be away, Pepton won the badge. When theresult was announced, we were all surprised, but none so much soas Pepton himself. He had been steadily improving since he hadadopted a good style of shooting, but he had had no idea thathe would that day be able to win the badge.When our president pinned the emblem of success upon thelapel of his coat, Pepton turned pale, and then he flushed. Hethanked the president, and was about to thank the ladies andgentlemen; but probably recollecting that we had had nothing todo with it,--unless, indeed, we had shot badly on his behalf,--herefrained. He said little, but I could see that he was veryproud and very happy. There was but one drawback to his triumph:Miss Rosa was not there. She was a very regular attendant, butfor some reason she was absent on this momentous afternoon. Idid not say anything to him on the subject, but I knew he feltthis absence deeply.But this cloud could not wholly overshadow his happiness. Hewalked home alone, his face beaming, his eyes sparkling, and hisgood bow under his arm.That evening I called on him, for I thought that when he hadcooled down a little he would like to talk over the affair.But he was not in. Miss Maria said that he had gone out as soonas he had finished his dinner, which he had hurried through in away which would certainly injure his digestion if he kept up thepractice; and dinner was late, too, for they waited for him, andthe archery meeting lasted a long time today; and it really wasnot right for him to stay out after the dew began to fall withonly ordinary shoes on, for what's the good of knowing how toshoot a bow and arrow, if you're laid up in your bed withrheumatism or disease of the lungs? Good old lady! She wouldhave kept Pepton in a green baize bag, had such a thing beenpossible.The next morning, full two hours before church-time, Peptoncalled on me. His face was still beaming. I could not helpsmiling."Your happiness lasts well," I said."Lasts!" he exclaimed. "Why shouldn't it last!""There's no reason why it should not--at least, for a week,"I said, "and even longer, if you repeat your success."I did not feel so much like congratulating Pepton as I had onthe previous evening. I thought he was making too much of hisbadge-winning."Look here!" said Pepton, seating himself, and drawing hischair close to me, "you are shooting wild--very wild indeed. Youdon't even see the target. Let me tell you something. Lastevening I went to see Miss Rosa. She was delighted at mysuccess. I had not expected this. I thought she would bepleased, but not to such a degree. Her congratulations were sowarm that they set me on fire.""They must have been very warm indeed," I remarked."`Miss Rosa,' said I," continued Pepton, without regarding myinterruption, "`it has been my fondest hope to see you wear thebadge.' `But I never could get it, you know,' she said. `Youhave got it,' I exclaimed. `Take this. I won it for you. Makeme happy by wearing it.' `I can't do that,' she said. `That isa gentleman's badge.' `Take it,' I cried, `gentleman and all!'"I can't tell you all that happened after that," continuedPepton. "You know, it wouldn't do. It is enough to say that shewears the badge. And we are both her own--the badge and I!"Now I congratulated him in good earnest. There was a reasonfor it."I don't owe a snap now for shooting an eagle," said Pepton,springing to his feet and striding up and down the floor. "Let'em all fly free for me. I have made the most glorious shot thatman could make. I have hit the gold--hit it fair in the verycentre! And what's more, I've knocked it clean out of thetarget! Nobody else can ever make such a shot. The rest of youfellows will have to be content to hit the red, the blue, theblack, or the white. The gold is mine!"I called on the old ladies, some time after this, and foundthem alone. They were generally alone in the evenings now. Wetalked about Pepton's engagement, and I found them resigned.They were sorry to lose him, but they wanted him to be happy."We have always known," said Miss Martha, with a little sigh,"that we must die, and that he must get married. But we don'tintend to repine. These things will come to people." And herlittle sigh was followed by a smile, still smaller.

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