"This: all of it!" she waved her hand abroad at the fair oval meadow with its fringe of tall trees and the blue sky above it; at the close-gathered knot of spectators, and the single contestant advanced before them. He shook his head. "Wait," she breathed, laying her fingers across her lips. The contest wore along until it again came the turn of the younger man. He stepped to the front, unbuckled a covered holster of the sort never carried in the West, and produced one of those beautifully balanced, beautifully finished revolvers known as the Officer's Model. Taking the firm yet easy position of the practised target shot, he sighted with great deliberation, firing only when he considered his aim assured. Indeed, once he lowered his weapon until a puff of wind had passed. The five shots were found to be not only within the black, but grouped inside a three-inch diameter. "'_A Hubert! A Hubert_!'" breathed the girl in Bob's ear. "_In the clout_!" "I thought his name was Elliott," said Bob. "Is it Hubert?" The girl eyed him reproachfully, but said nothing. "You're a _good_ shot, youngster!" cried Ware, in the heartiest congratulation; "but if Mr. Thorne don't mind, I'd like to shoot off this tie. Down in our country we don't shoot quite that way, or at that kind of a mark. Will you take a try my way?" Amy leaned again toward Bob, her face aflame. "_'And now,'_" she shot at him, "'_I will crave your Grace's permission to plant such a mark as is used in the north country; and welcome every brave yeoman who shall try a shot at it_--'Don't dare tell me you don't remember!" "'_A man can but do his best_,'" Bob took up the tale. "Of course, I remember; you're right." "All right," Thorne was agreeing, "but make it short. We've got a lot to do." Ware selected another target--one intended for the six-shooters--that had not been used. This he tacked up in place of the one already disfigured by many shots. Then he paced off twelve yards. "That looks easier than the other," Thorne commented. "Mebbe," agreed Ware, non-committally, "but you may change your mind. As for that sort of monkey-work," he indicated the discarded target, "down our way we'd as soon shoot at a barn." The girl softly clapped her hands. "'_For his own part_,'" she quoted in a breath, and so rapidly that the words fairly tumbled over one another, "'_in the land where he was bred, men would as soon take for their mark King Arthur's round table, which held sixty knights around it. A child of seven might hit yonder target with a headless shaft_.' Oh, this is perfect." "Now," said Ware to young Elliott, "if you'll hit that mark in my fashion of shooting, you're all right." Bob turned to the girl, his eyes dancing with delight. "'--_he that hits yon mark at I-forget-how-many yards_,'" he declaimed, "'_I will call him an archer fit to bear bow before a king_'--or something to that effect; I'm afraid I'm not letter perfect."