IFn tbe Moods witb tbe Bow 



to gladden my heart. Two or three com- 

 mercial travelers eyed my bow in its green 

 cover and my quiver tied up in its bag, 

 — sized me up, as they would have ex- 

 pressed it, — and yawned. They thought 

 they knew me, but they were greatly mis- 

 taken. It was I who knew them, a jolly 

 lot, each one trying to " figure up " his 

 expense-account so as to cover the cost of 

 seeing Jefferson as Rip Van Winkle in 

 Atlanta, and losses at billiards in Knoxville, 

 with a reasonable certainty of having it 

 audited and passed at the home ofifice. 



Next morning I was up at the crack of 

 dawn, having expressed my luggage forty 

 miles by rail deeper into the hills, so that 

 I could be foot-free to tramp with my 

 tackle. Early risers who had come forth 

 into the main clay street of the town 

 looked at me as at some outlandish being, 

 what time I strode rapidly past them, my 

 bow uncovered, my quiver at my hip, my 

 trousers inside my long stockings, and my 

 little field-glass swung under my right 

 arm. A big butcher, standing in a low 

 door under the sign, " Meat Market," 

 207 



