Early one summer morning, Dad was sitting on the porch near the rain-barrel with the tub on its top. Dad had picked up a piece of hickory tree limb, about the size of a grown person's finger, and about three or four feet long. It had a slight curve. Dad asked me if I would like to have a bow and arrow.

You can bet I was thrilled at the prospect, since playthings were scarce around our place then. At any rate, he cut the limb off about the right length and trimmed slight notches at each end, and told me to go get one of my many top cords. This done, he connected each end of the "bow" with a straight stretch of the cord. When the string was pulled, the bow would bend and exert a certain amount of power.

Dad picked up and old shingle and proceeded to whittle out an arrow with the correct notch to fit the bow. He practiced the strength of the bow and handed it to me. Naturally, he told me to be careful with it.

Just about that time, an old Rhode Island red chicken hen was casually walking across the yard some forty steps away. I carefully took aim and let the very first arrow go. --- You guessed it, it hit the old hen squarely!

I really did not do any damage to the hen, but Dad reached for the precious bow and broke it across his knee.

It was too late for everything but the lesson!