say, 'My grand'ther shot that bird, and with that very arrow.' Would it not stir your pulses, if you could do a thing like that?"
"I should have to stir them up a good deal before I could do it," I replied. "It would be a hard thing to shoot an eagle with an arrow. If you want a stuffed bird to bequeath, you'd better use a rifle."
"A rifle!" exclaimed Pepton. "There would be no glory in that. There are lots of birds shot with rifles,—eagles, hawks, wild geese, tom-tits"——
"Oh, no!" I interrupted, "not tom-tits."
"Well, perhaps they are too little for a rifle," said he; "but what I mean to say is, that I wouldn't care at all for an eagle I had shot with a rifle. You couldn't show the ball that killed him. If it were put in properly, it would be inside, where it couldn't be seen. No, sir; it is ever so much more honorable, and far more difficult, too, to hit an eagle than to hit a target."
"That is very true," I answered, "especially in these days, when there are so few eagles and so many targets. But what is your other diadem?"
"That," said Pepton, "is to see Miss Rosa wear the badge."
"Indeed!" said I; and from that moment I began to understand Pepton's hopes in regard to the grandmother of those children who should point to the eagle.
"Yes, sir," he continued, "I should be truly happy to see her win the badge. And she ought to win it. No one shoots more correctly, and with a better understanding of all the rules, than she does. There
