It is hardly worth while to make any argument against the assertion that all this is not golf. Of course it is not golf, but it is as near to it as we are likely to get within the limits of our four walls. Driving with the machine is good practice for the "long game," even though it cannot help us in correcting that dreaded "slicing" and "pulling." But these last, again, are principally matters of a faulty aim; it is the eye that needs correction. Practice with the approaching-target may teach us the sense of direction with our wrist shots, and we can leave the distance problem for our open-air play. The putting will train both eye and hand. Finally, the game is a practical one, and with a little ingenuity and intelligence in laying out the imaginary course, it may serve very well by way of amusement during the winter afternoons and evenings when the mercury without is hovering around the zero mark and the snow lies deep upon the links. THE MIDDLETON BOWL. BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND. CHAPTER II. While Miss Joanna Middleton was imparting the news of her startling discovery to her sisters in the house, Teddy and her aunt Thomasine were walking as swiftly as possible toward the lower end of the garden. Theodora's face betrayed that she was greatly excited, and she held her aunt's hand tightly, and almost dragged her along in her haste to get there. "My dear Teddy," said Miss Thomasine at length, while she fairly gasped for breath, "I am not accustomed to walking so fast. I--I really must stop for a moment." "Oh, do excuse me, Aunt Tom! I never thought. You see, I am so used to running." They stopped, and stood facing each other for a moment. "What have you under your apron?" asked Miss Thomasine. Theodora's face grew redder still, and she cast down her eyes. This was unusual, for the child had a frank, fearless habit of fixing her brown eyes upon those of the person to whom she was speaking which was very winning. Her face had a way of showing every emotion which she might be feeling, and her aunt saw at once that something was the matter. "Are you so troubled about the kitten, Teddy, my dear?" asked Miss Thomasine. "Do you begin to feel sorry that you fought the boy?" "I'm not a bit sorry, Aunt Tom. I'm glad, glad, _glad_! But you needn't look so disappointed; the sorry feeling may come later. It usually does after I've been naughty, but sometimes not for a good while. For instance, when I've been naughty in the morning I very often don't begin to feel sorry till toward sunset. I suppose I begin to think then of that verse in the Bible about not letting the sun go down on your wrath. So perhaps late in the afternoon I may begin to feel a little bit sorry about Andy Morse, though I don't know. But are you rested yet, Aunt Tom? I do want to get to the funeral, but not unless you are quite ready," she added, politely. "Suppose you take my other hand," said Miss Thomasine, "and I will hold my sunshade in this one."