"You is doing it beautiful," said Diana, applauding his extremely poor efforts. "Now, twy again. Think that you has lived long, long ago, and that you is shotting things for our dinner." The arrow went wide of the mark, the arrow went everywhere but where it ought to. Diana clapped and laughed and shouted, and Apollo thought himself the finest archer in the world. "Now, let me have a teeny turn," she said. "To be sure I will," he replied good-naturedly. He showed her how to place the arrow, and she made one or two valiant attempts to send it flying through the wood. "It is hard," she panted; "the arrow don't seem even to make the least little pwick. Now, I want to shoot stwaight at that oak twee, or would you mind awfu', Apollo, if I was to shoot at you?" "All right," replied Apollo; "you may aim at my hand, if you like." He walked about a dozen yards away and held up his hand. Diana made valiant efforts, and grew crimson in the face, but the arrow still went wide of the mark. CHAPTER XI. JOG'APHY. The next day lessons began with a vengeance. It was one thing for the four Delaney children to work with Miss Stevenson at the old Manor House. Lessons in mother's time were rather pleasant than otherwise; as often as not they were conducted in the garden, and when the day happened to be very hot, and the little people somewhat impatient of restraint, Miss Stevenson gave them a certain amount of liberty; but lessons at the Rectory were an altogether different matter. Miss Ramsay, when she awoke the next day, had seemed emphatically to have put on all her armor. During the holiday, neither Orion nor Diana, neither Apollo nor Iris, thought Miss Ramsay of any special account. They stared a good deal at Uncle Dolman, and they watched Aunt Jane with anxious eyes, but Miss Ramsay did not matter, one way or the other. The next day, however, they came to have a totally different opinion with regard to her.