Her shortcomings were legion, but nobody else was available who was willing to carry the burden of the clerical duties of the club, and she was allowed to run things to her heart’s content. Her main reward was the occasional mention of her name in the county paper, in connection with the activities of the club. She treasured the carefully garnered clippings and gloated over them through the dreary years. To her they were precious incense, and, while they gratified, but never satisfied her vanity and hunger for notoriety, they were the compensation of her narrow and disappointed life, and the food of her impoverished and selfish spirit. She was without the consolations of religion, the resources of culture, or the sweet recompense of children’s voices, to soften the asperities of her fruitless existence. The gray hairs had come and there was no love around Sophy, for she had sent forth none during the period of life in which temples of the soul must be builded, if kindly light beams from their windows, and there be fit sanctuary for the weary spirit in the after years. Successive official heads of the club, who seemed to be attracting more public attention than Sophy, were submarined, made officially sick, and retired gracefully. The supply of these official heads finally became restricted, and for the past few years Bill’s incumbency had been undisturbed, although he frequently threatened to “throw up the job.” J. Montgomery Perkins was a subdued helpmate. He was an inoffensive little man, who was always alluded to as “Sophy’s husband,” and when this happened somebody would usually exclaim sympathetically, “Poor Perk!” Of late years the club had suffered from “too much Sophy Perkins.” Interest had begun to lag and apathy was creeping over the membership. “You want to look out fer Sophy,” confided Hyatt, before I had met her. “She’s got a lot o’ wires loose in the upper story, but she knows where the ends of all of ’em are when they’s anything in it fer her.” Promptly at 2 P.M. Bill pounded with a big stick on a board that was sustained at the ends by the heads of two resonant barrels. The confused hum of voices ceased and the eyes of the scattered groups were upon him. Sophy whispered to him that he was now to announce the opening of the shoot. It was Bill’s intention to do this anyway, but Sophy thought it better that she should take part in what was going on. Substantially his remarks were as follows: