"I wish I were," said Apollo, throwing back his head. "Oh, Di, how hot it is in the wood! What wouldn't I give to be back in the dear old garden again?"
"Maybe we'll go soon," said Diana; "maybe they won't want to keep us if—" But here she shut up her little mouth firmly.
Apollo was too much excited about the bow and arrows to think of Diana's remarks. He stood up and began to practice shooting.
"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.