“There may be something in what you say,” Cupid replied; “at any rate you seem to be older and graver and possibly wiser than I, and you certainly wear more clothes. Take the bow and try.”
The good man did so, and the next day or so he was very busy conscientiously transfixing the hearts of his parishioners. Such was the accuracy of his aim that he made only one slip, and that was when, in his endeavours to unite by puncture the cardiac penumbras of pretty little Lizzie Porter and Mr. Godfrey Bloom, his eye faltered, and instead Mr. Godfrey Bloom was paired with the exceedingly unprepossessing Dorothea Atkins, who happened to be standing close by.
The good man did all that was possible to repair the mischief which he felt his lapse has caused; but it was in vain, and Miss Lizzie Porter never regained her chance.
“Well,” said Cupid, as he strolled into the good man’s garden a few years after, “how has your shooting turned out? Perfectly, I suppose.”
“No,” the good man replied with a sigh, “I am afraid not. As a matter of fact the only happy brace in the whole bag are Godfrey and Dorothea.”
“Quite so,” said the little fellow. “I expected it. I always felt those archery lessons were a mistake.”
“Then what is to be done?” asked the good man. “What is to be done if neither taking aim nor shooting at random avails?”
“Nothing,” said Cupid as he fitted an arrow to the string. “Nothing. One just goes on shooting and hopes for the best.”
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