.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 49282
   :PG.Title: The Chronicles of the Imp
   :PG.Released: 2015-06-25
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Jeffery Farnol
   :DC.Title: The Chronicles of the Imp
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1915
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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THE CHRONICLES OF THE IMP
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   .. _`"*Edging my way, therefore, still further along the branch, I kicked out in a desperate endeavour to reach the boat.*"`:

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      :alt: "*Edging my way, therefore, still further along the branch, I kicked out in a desperate endeavour to reach the boat.*"

      "*Edging my way, therefore, still further along the branch, I kicked out in a desperate endeavour to reach the boat.*"

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      THE CHRONICLES
      OF THE IMP

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      A ROMANCE

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      BY

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      JEFFERY FARNOL

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      AUTHOR OF "THE BROAD HIGHWAY," "THE MONEY MOON,"
      "THE AMATEUR GENTLEMAN," "THE HON. MR. TAWNISH,"
      "BELTANE THE SMITH"

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      ALSO
      AN APPRECIATION
      THE AUTHOR AND HIS WORK
      BY CLEMENT K. SHORTER

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      NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION

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      LONDON
      SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & CO., LTD.
      1915

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   JEFFERY FARNOL AND HIS WORK

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   *An Appreciation*

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   BY

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   CLEMENT \K. SHORTER

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Mr. Jeffery Farnol is an Englishman, and
his best-known book, *The Broad Highway*,
is redolent of the atmosphere of his native
country.  Nevertheless it was written in the
United States of America, and perhaps it has
enjoyed its greatest popularity there.  Yet
three American publishers refused the book,
and so Mr. Farnol is one of a long list of
authors who have worked their way through
much tribulation to success.  I confess that
such episodes in the romance of publishing
attract me mightily.  I rather like to hear
of the short-sighted publisher who rejects
an author's book and finds out, when too
late, that he has lost money and reputation
by his lack of prescience.  And I like
also to hear the story of the loyal friend
who, reading a manuscript, stands by his
judgment and introduces that friend to a
publisher, with the happiest results for both.
That is Mr. Farnol's personal romance.  The
friend in question was Mr. Shirley Byron
Jevons, to whom the manuscript was sent
from America.  Mr. Jevons, after an enthusiastic
perusal, carried it to Mr. Fred J. Rymer,
a director of Sampson Low, Marston & Co.,
the publishers.  The book was published, and
a sale throughout the English-speaking world
of 600,000 was the result.  I hope I may be
forgiven for recalling that Mr. Rymer brought
the manuscript to me.  Well do I remember
his enthusiasm and my lack of it.  I have
read too many manuscripts in my life as
an editor ever to wish to usurp the duties
of a publisher or of a publisher's literary
adviser.  I should hate the life.  Think of
that publisher and what he would feel about
you if perchance you had persuaded him to
refuse this or that "best-seller," as our
American friends call the very popular book.
Imagine the feelings of the publishers whose
readers advised them to refuse Charlotte
Brontë's *Professor* without at the same time
persuading the author to write a *Jane Eyre*.
But Mr. Rymer was an old acquaintance
and I promised to read his new-found
story.  I added the remark, I remember,
that I was rather used to publishers counting
their geese as swans.  Mr. Rymer told me
long afterwards that he brought the book
to me because he knew of my devotion to
George Borrow.

In any case I read *The Broad Highway* with
avidity, and recognised at once--as who would
not have done?--that here was a striking
addition to picaresque romances, that the
author had not read *Don Quixote, Gil Blas*,
and the best stories by Defoe and Fielding
for nothing, nor had he walked along the broad
highways of England without observation
and profit any more than had the creator of
*Lavengro* and *Romany Rye*.  For the vast
multitude of readers of each epoch the dictum of
Emerson stands: "Every age must write its
own books."  It is of no use for the pedantic
critic to affirm, with pontifical fervour, that
Cervantes and Le Sage and Defoe are masters
of literature and that our contemporaries
are but pigmies in comparison.  The great
reading public of any age will not be bullied
into reading the authors who have reached
the dignity of classics.  The writer who can
catch some element of the spirit of the
"masters" and modernise it, is destined to
win the favour of the crowd.  And thus
Mr. Jeffery Farnol has entered into his
kingdom.

Mr. Farnol was born in Birmingham some
thirty-six years ago.  His early years were
spent at Lee, in Kent, where he and a younger
brother Ewart, who fell in the Boer War,
went to school.  Our author recalls with
gratitude that his mother never failed to
believe in his possession of a literary gift, and
had, in his boyhood, hopes of seeing him an
author, and faith that he would be a successful
one.  But circumstances seemed to throw
him into a quite different kind of activity,
and everything pointed to the probability
that his livelihood would be obtained in a
world remote from literature.  Schooldays
were followed by an apprenticeship to
engineering in London and in Birmingham.  His
experience included the work of the smithy,
which must have been of service to him when
he came to write *The Broad Highway*.  Very
badly equipped for the struggle of life in a
strange land he rashly betook himself to New
York, where his wife--he married when quite
young--had friends.  I imagine that a great
gulf is fixed between the world to which
Mr. Farnol introduces us in his romances and the
early struggles that he met with in New York.
For a long period he was a scene painter at the
Astor Theatre, "and must," a friend assures
us, "have daubed miles of scenery in his
time."  His income from this work was supplemented
by the sale of occasional short stories.  And
then, in this most practical of cities, amid an
atmosphere of up-to-dateness and progress
of which those who only know the quieter
ways of London can form no idea, he wrote
his romance of an unprogressive world with
stage coaches, boxers, and idyllic love--the
world that Mr. Austin Dobson has so happily
presented in his poem, "A Gentleman of the
Old School":

   |  He lived in that past Georgian day,
   |  When men were less inclined to say
   |  That "Time is Gold," and overlay
   |        With toil their pleasure;
   |  He held some land, and dwelt thereon,--
   |  Where, I forget,--the house is gone;
   |  His Christian name, I think, was John,--
   |        His surname, Leisure.

Then followed some unhappy days which
lengthened into months during which the
author of *The Broad Highway* was endeavouring
to find a publisher.  Three separate
publishing houses in New York refused the book;
two turned it down without ceremony; a third
gave as a reason that it was "too long and
too English."  One of the actors of the Astor
Theatre was about to fulfil an engagement
in Boston, and offered to show the manuscript
to a publisher in that city.  Long months
afterwards that friend returned to New York,
and Mr. Farnol found to his chagrin that he
had forgotten all about his promise.  The
unlucky story was still at the bottom of his
trunk.  The author, now almost in despair,
sent the manuscript to his wife, who was
residing at Engelwood, New Jersey, and asked
her to burn it.  But his wife had the happy
thought of sending it to England--to
Mr. Shirley Jevons, who was then occupying the
editorial chair of *The Sportsman*, and was a
friend of the family.  Mr. Jevons read it
with enthusiasm, and with such results as we
have already noted.  The book sold like
wildfire.  The author returned to England to
win further laurels.  Here I find a pleasant
coincidence in the fact that the London
firm of Sampson Low, having accepted
the story, offered it to Little, Brown & Co. of
Boston, where their accomplished representative,
Mr. Herbert Jenkins, at once perceived
the merits of the story and acquired the
American rights.  This, it seems, was the
very firm to which Mr. Farnol's actor-friend
intended to show the manuscript and forgot
to keep his promise.  *The Broad Highway*,
as I have said, sold in hundreds of thousands.
It has appeared in an édition de luxe with
beautiful illustrations by C. E. Brock.  It is a
breezy, healthy book, as unpretentious as it
is sincere.  Neither its author nor his friends
need to worry themselves as to whether it is
a masterpiece of literature.  For our day, at
least, it has added to the stock of harmless
pleasures.  To the critic who complains that
"it is but an exercise in archæology," and
that the author "has never felt what he has
written but has gathered it up from books," one
can but reply in the language of Goldsmith's
Mr. Burchell, "Fudge."  It is still possible in
England, in spite of its railway trains and its
mechanical development, to feel the impulse
which inspired Charles Dickens, George Borrow,
and all the masters of the picaresque romance,
who have in days gone by travelled with
delight through the countryside, seeking
adventures and finding them.  "I felt some
desire," says Lavengro, "to meet with one
of those adventures which, upon the roads
of England, are as plentiful as blackberries in
autumn."  Mr. Farnol has a talent for
recreating such adventures, and he is perfectly
frank with his readers, anticipating a certain
type of criticism.  "Whereas the writing of
books was once a painful art," he makes Peter
Vibart say in *The Broad Highway*, "it has of
late become a trick very easy of accomplishment,
requiring no regard for probability and
little thought, so long as it is packed sufficiently
full of impossible incidents through which a
ridiculous heroine and a more absurd hero
duly sigh their appointed way to the last
chapter.  Whereas books were once a power,
they are of late degenerated into things of
amusement, with which to kill an idle hour,
and be promptly forgotten the next."

One might almost have believed that it was
impossible to accomplish the "trick" twice and
to provide yet a second adventure story as
good as the first, but this our author has
achieved in *The Amateur Gentleman*, where the
adventures of Barnabas, the son of the prize-fighter,
are as varied and exciting as those of
Peter Vibart in the earlier romance.
Mr. Farnol has been responsible for yet two
other stories, *The Money Moon* and *The
Honourable Mr. Tawnish*, but nothing has he
written quite in the lines of *The Chronicles
of the Imp*.  Here indeed is a simple
story with which we may pass a pleasant
hour.  I hope you will like the Imp and his
Aunt as much as I have done.  Alone among
the successful authors of our generation--among
those, that is, whose work runs into
circulations of hundreds of thousands--Mr. Farnol
wins me by his unpretentiousness.
He has no gospel to preach, no crude law
of life to enunciate.  He is content to
entertain and amuse, to give us sunny hours of
recreation, and never more than now are
writers of this order needed for our solace.

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   CONTENTS

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CHAP.

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I.  `Treasure Trove`_
II.  `The Sheriff of Nottingham`_
III.  `The Desperadoes`_
IV.  `At the Three Jolly Anglers`_
V.  `The Episode of the Indian's Aunt`_
VI.  `The Outlaw`_
VII.  `The Blasted Oak`_
VIII.  `The Land of Heart's Delight`_





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.. _`TREASURE TROVE`:

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   THE CHRONICLES OF THE IMP

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   CHAPTER I

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   TREASURE TROVE

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I sat fishing.  I had not caught anything,
of course--I rarely do, nor am I fond of fishing
in the very smallest degree, but I fished
assiduously all the same, because circumstances
demanded it.

It had all come about through Lady Warburton,
Lisbeth's maternal aunt.  Who Lisbeth
is you will learn if you trouble to read these
veracious narratives--suffice it for the present
that she has been an orphan from her youth up,
with no living relative save her married sister
Julia and her Aunt (with a capital A)--the
Lady Warburton aforesaid.

Lady Warburton is small and somewhat
bony, with a sharp chin and a sharper nose,
and invariably uses a lorgnette; also, she is
possessed of much worldly goods.

Precisely a week ago Lady Warburton had
requested me to call upon her--had regarded
me with a curious exactitude through her
lorgnette, and gently though firmly (Lady
Warburton is always firm) had suggested that
Elizabeth, though a dear child, was young and
inclined to be a little self-willed.  That she
(Lady Warburton) was of opinion that
Elizabeth had mistaken the friendship which had
existed between us so long for something
stronger.  That although she (Lady Warburton)
quite appreciated the fact that one who
wrote books was not necessarily immoral--still
I was, of course, a terrible Bohemian, and
the air of Bohemia was not calculated to
conduce to that degree of matrimonial harmony
which she (Lady Warburton) as Elizabeth's
Aunt, standing to her in place of a mother,
could wish for.  That, therefore, under these
circumstances, my attentions were--etc. etc.

Here I would say in justice to myself that
despite the torrent of her eloquence I had at
first made some attempt at resistance; but who
could hope to contend successfully against a
woman possessed of such an indomitable nose
and chin, and one, moreover, who could level
a jewelled lorgnette with such deadly precision?
Still, had Lisbeth been beside me, things
might have been different even then; but
she had gone away into the country--so Lady
Warburton had informed me.  Thus, alone
and at her mercy, she had succeeded in wringing
from me a half promise that I would cease
my attentions for the space of six months,
"just to give dear Elizabeth time to learn her
own heart in regard to the matter."

This was last Monday.  On the Wednesday
following, as I wandered aimlessly along
Piccadilly, at odds with fortune and myself, but
especially with myself, my eye encountered the
Duchess of Chelsea.

The Duchess is familiarly known as the
"Conversational Brook" from the fact that
when once she begins she goes on for ever.
Hence, being in my then frame of mind, it was
with a feeling of rebellion that I obeyed the
summons of her parasol and crossed over to
the brougham.

"So she's gone away?" was her greeting
as I raised my hat--"Lisbeth," she nodded,
"I happened to hear something about her,
you know."

It is strange, perhaps, but the Duchess
generally does "happen to hear" something
about everything.

"And you actually allowed yourself to
be bullied into making that promise--Dick!
Dick!  I'm ashamed of you."

"How was I to help myself?" I began.
"You see----"

"Poor boy!" said the Duchess, patting
me affectionately with the handle of her parasol,
"it wasn't to be expected, of course.  You see,
I know her--many, many years ago I was at
school with Agatha Warburton."

"But she probably didn't use lorgnettes
then, and----"

"Her nose was just as sharp though--'peaky,'
I used to call it," nodded the Duchess.
"And she has actually sent Lisbeth away--dear
child--and to such a horrid, quiet little
place, too, where she'll have nobody to talk
to but that young Selwyn----"

"I beg pardon, Duchess, but----"

"Horace Selwyn, of Selwyn Park--cousin to
Lord Selwyn, of Brankesmere.  Agatha has
been scheming for it a long time, under the rose,
you know.  Of course, it would be a good
match in a way--wealthy, and all that--but I
must say he bores me horribly--so very serious
and precise!"

"Really!" I exclaimed, "do you mean to
say----"

"I expect she will have them married before
they know it--Agatha's dreadfully determined.
Her character lies in her nose and chin."

"But Lisbeth is not a child--she has a will of
her own, and----"

"True," nodded the Duchess, "but is it a
match for Agatha's chin?  And then, too, it is
rather more than possible that you are become
the object of her bitterest scorn by now."

"But, my dear Duchess----"

"Oh, Agatha is a born diplomat.  Of course
she has written before this, and, without actually
saying it, has managed to convey the fact that
you are a monster of perfidy; and Lisbeth,
poor child, who is probably crying her eyes out,
or imagining she hates you, is ready to accept
the first proposal she receives out of pure pique."

"What on earth can I do?" I exclaimed.

"You might go fishing," the Duchess suggested
thoughtfully.

"Fishing!" I repeated, "--er, to be sure, but----"

"Riverdale is a very pretty place, they tell
me," pursued the Duchess in the same thoughtful
tone; "there is a house there, a fine old
place, called Fane Court.  It stands facing the
river, and adjoins Selwyn Park, I believe."

"Duchess," I exclaimed, as I jotted down
the address upon my cuff, "I owe you a debt
of gratitude that I can never----"

"Tut, tut!" said her Grace.

"I think I'll start to-day, and----"

"You really couldn't do better," nodded the
Duchess.

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And so it befell that upon this August afternoon
I sat in the shade of the alders fishing,
with the smoke of my pipe floating up into the
sunshine.

By adroit questioning I had elicited from
mine host of the Three Jolly Anglers the
precise whereabouts of Fane Court, the abode of
Lisbeth's sister, and, guided by his directions,
had chosen this sequestered spot, where by
simply turning my head I could catch a glimpse
of its tall chimneys above the swaying green of
tree-tops.

It is a fair thing upon a hot summer's afternoon,
within some shady bower, to lie upon one's
back and stare up through a network of branches
into the limitless blue beyond, while the air
is full of the stir of leaves, and the murmur of
water among the reeds.  Or, propped on lazy
elbow, to watch perspiring wretches, short of
breath and purple of visage, urge boats up
stream or down, each deluding himself into the
belief that he is enjoying it.  Life under such
conditions may seem very fair, as I say; yet
I was not happy.  The words of the Duchess
seemed everywhere about me.

"You are become the object of her bitterest
scorn by now," sobbed the wind.

"You are become," etc. etc., moaned the
river.  It was therefore with no little trepidation
that I looked forward to my meeting with Lisbeth.

It was at this moment that the bushes parted
and a boy appeared.  He was a somewhat
diminutive boy, clad in a velvet suit with a
lace collar, both of which were plentifully
bespattered with mud.  He carried his shoes and
stockings beneath one arm, and in the other
hand swung a hazel branch.  He stood with
his little brown legs well apart, regarding me
with a critical eye; but when at length he
spoke his attitude was decidedly friendly.

"Hallo, man!"

"Hallo," I returned; "and who may you be?"

"Well," he answered gravely, "my real name
is Reginald Augustus, but they call me 'The Imp.'"

"I can well believe it," I said, eyeing his
muddy person.

"If you please, what is an imp?"

"An imp," I explained, "is a sort of an--angel."

"But," he demurred, after a moment's
thought, "I haven't got any wings an' things--or
a trumpet."

"Your kind never do have wings, or trumpets."

"Oh, I see," he said; and sitting down
began to wipe the mud from his legs with his
stockings.

"Rather muddy, aren't you?" I hinted.
The boy cast a furtive glance at his draggled
person.

"'Fraid I'm a teeny bit wet, too," he said
hesitatingly.  "You see, I've been playing at
'Romans,' an' I had to wade, you know, 'cause
was the standard-bearer who jumped into the
sea waving his sword an' crying, 'Follow me!'  You
remember him, don't you?--he's in the
history book."

"To be sure," I nodded; "a truly heroic
character.  But if you were the Romans, where
were the Ancient Britons?"

"Oh, they were the reeds, you know; you
ought to have seen me slay them.  It was fine;
they went down like--like----"

"Corn before the sickle," I suggested.

"Yes, just!" he cried; "the battle raged
for hours."

"You must be rather tired."

"'Course not," he answered, with an indignant
look.  "I'm not a girl--an' I'm nearly
nine, too."

"I gather from your tone that you are not
partial to the sex--you don't like girls, eh, Imp?"

"Should think not," he returned; "silly
things, girls are.  There's Dorothy, you know;
we were playing at executions the other
day--she was Mary Queen of Scots an' I was the
headsman.  I made a lovely axe with wood and
silver paper, you know; an' when I cut her
head off she cried awfully, an' I only gave her
the weeniest little tap--an' they sent me to
bed at six o'clock for it.  I believe she cried on
purpose--awfully caddish, wasn't it?"

"My dear Imp," said I, "the older you grow
the more the depravity of the sex will become
apparent to you."

"Do you know, I like you," he said, regarding
me thoughtfully.  "I think you are fine."

"Now that's very nice of you, Imp; in
common with my kind I have a weakness for
flattery--please go on."

"I mean, I think you are jolly."

"As to that," I said, shaking my head and
sighing, "appearances are often very deceptive;
at the heart of many a fair blossom there is a
canker-worm."

"I'm awfull' fond of worms, too," said the Imp.

"Indeed?"

"Yes.  I got a pocketful yesterday, only
Auntie found out an' made me let them all go
again."

"Ah--yes," I said sympathetically; "that
was the woman of it."

"I've only got one left now," continued the
Imp; and thrusting a hand into the pocket of
his knickerbockers he drew forth six inches or
so of slimy worm and held it out to me upon
his small, grimy palm.

"He's nice and fat!" I said.

"Yes," nodded the Imp; "I caught him
under the gooseberry bushes;" and dropping
it back into his pocket he proceeded to don his
shoes and stockings.

"'Fraid I'm a bit muddy," he said suddenly.

"Oh, you might be worse," I answered
reassuringly.

"Do you think they'll notice it?" he inquired,
contorting himself horribly in order to view the
small of his back.

"Well," I hesitated, "it all depends, you know."

"I don't mind Dorothy, or Betty the cook,
or the governess--it's Auntie Lisbeth I'm
thinking about."

"Auntie--who?" I exclaimed, regardless of
grammar.

"Auntie Lisbeth," repeated the Imp.

"What is she like?"

"Oh, she's grown up big, only she's nice.
She came to take care of Dorothy an' me while
mother goes away to get nice an' strong--oh,
Auntie Lisbeth's jolly, you know."

"With black hair and blue eyes?"  The
Imp nodded.

"And a dimple at the corner of her mouth?"
I went on dreamily.

"An' do you know my Auntie Lisbeth?"

"I think it extremely probable--in fact,
I'm sure of it."

"Then you might lend me your handkerchief,
please; I tied mine to a bush for a flag, you
know, an' it blew away."

"You'd better come here and I'll give you a
rub down, my Imp."  He obeyed, with many
profuse expressions of gratitude.

"Have you got any Aunties?" he inquired,
as I laboured upon his miry person.

"No," I answered, shaking my head;
"unfortunately mine are all Aunts, and that is
vastly different."

"Oh," said the Imp, regarding me with a
puzzled expression; "are they nice--I mean do
they ever read to you out of the history book,
an help you to sail boats, an' paddle?"

"Paddle?" I repeated.

"Yes.  My Aunt Lisbeth does.  The other
day we got up awfull' early an' went for a walk,
an' we came to the river, so we took off our
shoes an' stockings an' we paddled; it was
ever so jolly, you know.  An' when Auntie
wasn't looking I found a frog an' put it in her
stocking."

"Highly strategic, my Imp!  Well?"

"It was awfull' funny," he said, smiling
dreamily.  "When she went to put 'em on she
gave a little high-up scream, like Dorothy does
when I pinch her a bit--an' then she throwed
them both away, 'cause she was afraid there
was frogs in both of them.  Then she put on
her shoes without any stockings at all, so I hid
them."

"Where?" I cried eagerly.

"Reggie!" called a voice some distance
away--a voice I recognised with a thrill.
"Reggie!"

"Imp, would you like half a crown?"

"'Course I would; but you might clean
my back, please!" and he began rubbing
himself feverishly with his cap, after the fashion
of a scrubbing-brush.

"Look here," I said, pulling out the coin,
"tell me where you hid them--quick--and I'll
give you this."  The Imp held out his hand,
but, even as he did so, the bushes parted, and
Lisbeth stood before us.  She gave a little low
cry of surprise at sight of me, and then
frowned.

"You?" she exclaimed.

"Yes," I answered, raising my cap.  And
there I stopped, trying frantically to remember
the speech I had so carefully prepared--the
greeting which was to have explained my
conduct and disarmed her resentment at the
very outset.  But, rack my brain as I would,
I could think of nothing but the reproach in
her eyes--her disdainful mouth and chin--and
that one haunting phrase--

"'I suppose I am become the object of your
bitterest scorn by now?'" I found myself
saying.

"My Aunt informed me of--of everything,
and naturally----"

"Let me explain," I began.

"Really, it is not at all necessary."

"But, Lisbeth, I must--I insist----"

"Reginald," she said, turning toward the
Imp, who was still busy with his cap, "it's
nearly tea-time, and--why, whatever have
you been doing to yourself?"

"For the last half-hour," I interposed,
"we have been exchanging our opinions on
the sex."

"An' talking 'bout worms," added the Imp.
"This man is fond of worms, too, Auntie
Lisbeth--I like him."

"Thanks," I said; "but let me beg of you
to drop your very distant mode of address.
Call me Uncle Dick."

"But you're not my Uncle Dick, you know,"
he demurred.

"Not yet, perhaps; but there's no
knowing what may happen some day if your
Auntie thinks us worthy--so take time by
the forelock, my Imp, and call me Uncle Dick."

Whatever Lisbeth might or might not have
said was checked by the patter of footsteps, and
a little girl tripped into view, with a small,
fluffy kitten cuddled in her arms.

"Oh, Auntie Lisbeth," she began, but stopped
to stare at me over the back of the fluffy
kitten.

"Hallo, Dorothy!" cried the Imp; "this
is Uncle Dick.  You can come an' shake hands
with him if you like."

"I didn't know I had an Uncle Dick," said
Dorothy, hesitating.

"Oh yes; it's all right," answered the Imp
reassuringly.  "I found him, you know, an'
he likes worms, too!"

Dorothy gave me her hand demurely.

"How do you do, Uncle Dick?" she said
in a quaint, old-fashioned way.  "Reginald is
always finding things, you know, an' he likes
worms, too!"

From somewhere near by there came the
silvery chime of a bell.

"Why, there's the tea-bell!" exclaimed
Lisbeth; "and, Reginald, you have to change
those muddy clothes.  Say good-bye to
Mr. Brent, children, and come along."

"Imp," I whispered, as the others turned
away, "where did you hide those stockings?"  And
I slipped the half-crown into his ready
palm.

"Along the river there's a tree--very big an'
awfull' fat, you know, with a lot of stickie-out
branches, an' a hole in its stomach--they're
in there."

"Reginald!" called Lisbeth.

"Up stream or down?"

"That way," he answered, pointing vaguely
down stream; and with a nod that brought
the yellow curls over his eyes he scampered off.

"Along the river," I repeated, "in a big, fat
tree with a lot of stickie-out branches!"  It
sounded a trifle indefinite, I thought--still I
could but try.  So having packed up my rod
I set out upon the search.

It was strange, perhaps, but nearly every
tree I saw seemed to be either "big" or
"fat"--and all of them had "stickie-out"
branches.

Thus the sun was already low in the west,
and I was lighting my fifth pipe when I at
length observed the tree in question.

A great pollard oak it was, standing upon
the very edge of the stream, easily distinguishable
by its unusual size and the fact that at
some time or another it had been riven by
lightning.  After all, the Imp's description
had been in the main correct; it was "fat,"
immensely fat; and I hurried joyfully forward.

I was still some way off when I saw the
distinct flutter of a white skirt, and--yes, sure
enough, there was Lisbeth, walking quickly,
too, and she was a great deal nearer the tree
than I.

Prompted by a sudden conviction I dropped
my rod and began to run.  Immediately Lisbeth
began running too.  I threw away my creel and
sprinted for all I was worth.  I had earned some
small fame at this sort of thing in my university
days, yet I arrived at the tree with only a very
few yards to spare.  Throwing myself upon
my knees, I commenced a feverish search, and
presently--more by good fortune than anything
else--my random fingers encountered a soft
silken bundle.  When Lisbeth came up, flushed
and panting, I held them in my hands.

"Give them to me!" she cried.

"I'm sorry----"

"Please," she begged.

"I'm very sorry----"

"Mr. Brent," said Lisbeth, drawing herself
up, "I'll trouble you for my--them."

"Pardon me, Lisbeth," I answered, "but if I
remember anything of the law of 'treasure-trove'
one of these should go to the Crown, and one
belongs to me."

Lisbeth grew quite angry--one of her few
bad traits.

"You will give them up at once--immediately."

"On the contrary," I said very gently, "seeing
the Crown can have no use for one, I shall
keep them both to dream over when the nights
are long and lonely."

Lisbeth actually stamped her foot at me,
and I tucked "them" into my pocket.

"How did you know they--they were here?"
she inquired after a pause.

"I was directed to a tree with 'stickie-out'
branches," I answered.

"Oh, that Imp!" she exclaimed, and stamped
her foot again.

"Do you know, I've grown quite attached
to that nephew of mine already?" I said.

"He's not a nephew of yours," cried Lisbeth
quite hotly.

"Not legally, perhaps; that is where you
might be of such assistance to us, Lisbeth.
A boy with only an aunt here and there, is
unbalanced, so to speak; he requires the
stronger influence of an uncle.  Not," I
continued hastily, "that I would depreciate
aunts--by the way, he has but one, I
believe?"  Lisbeth nodded coldly.

"Of course," I nodded, "and very lucky
in that one--extremely fortunate.  Now, years
ago, when I was a boy, I had three, and all of
them blanks, so to speak.  I mean none of them
ever read to me out of the history book, or
helped me to sail boats, or paddled and lost
their----  No, mine used to lecture me about
my hair and nails, I remember, and glare at me
over the big tea-urn until I choked into my
teacup.  A truly desolate childhood mine.  I
had no big-fisted uncle to thump me persuasively
when I needed it; had fortune granted me
one I might have been a very different man,
Lisbeth.  You behold in me a horrible example
of what one may become whose boyhood has
been denuded of uncles."

"If you will be so very obliging as to return
my--my property."

"My dear Lisbeth," I sighed, "be reasonable;
suppose we talk of something else"--and
I attempted, though quite vainly, to
direct her attention to the glories of the
sunset.

A fallen tree lay near by, upon which Lisbeth
seated herself with a certain determined set of
her little round chin that I knew well.

"And how long do you intend keeping me
here?" she asked in a resigned tone.

"Always, if I had my way."

"Really?" she said, and whole volumes
could never describe all the scorn she managed
to put into that single word.  "You see," she
continued, "after what Aunt Agatha wrote
and told me----"

"Lisbeth," I broke in, "if you'll only----"

"I naturally supposed----"

"If you'll only let me explain----"

"That you would abide by the promise you
made her and wait----"

"Until you knew your own heart," I put in.
"The question is how long will it take you?
Probably, if you would allow me to teach you----"

"Your presence here now stamps you as--as
horribly deceitful!"

"Undoubtedly," I nodded; "but, you see,
when I was foolish enough to give that promise,
your very excellent Aunt made no reference
to her intentions regarding a certain Mr. Selwyn."

"Oh!" exclaimed Lisbeth.  And feeling that
I had made a point, I continued with redoubled
ardour:

"She gave me to understand that she merely
wished you to have time to know your own
heart in the matter.  Now, as I said before, how
long will it take you to find out, Lisbeth?"

She sat, chin in hand, staring straight before
her, and her black brows were still drawn
together in a frown.  But I watched her mouth--just
where the scarlet underlip curved up to
meet its fellow.

Lisbeth's mouth is a trifle wide, perhaps,
and rather full-lipped, and somewhere at one
corner--I can never be quite certain of its
exact location, because its appearance is, as a
rule, so very meteoric--but somewhere there
is a dimple.  Now, if ever there was an arrant
traitor in this world it is that dimple; for let
her expression be ever so guileless, let her
wistful eyes be raised with a look of tears in
their blue depths, despite herself that dimple
will spring into life and undo it all in a
moment.  So it was now; even as I watched,
it quivered round her lips, and feeling herself
betrayed, the frown vanished altogether and
she smiled.

"And now, Dick, suppose you give me my--my----"

"Conditionally," I said, sitting down beside her.

The sun had set, and from somewhere among
the purple shadows of the wood the rich, deep
notes of a blackbird came to us, with pauses
now and then, filled in with the rustle of leaves
and the distant lowing of cows.

"Not far from the village of Down in Kent,"
I began dreamily, "there stands an old house
with quaint, high-gabled roofs and twisted Tudor
chimneys.  Many years ago it was the home
of fair ladies and gallant gentlemen, but its
glory is long past.  And yet, Lisbeth, when
I think of it at such an hour as this, and with
you beside me, I begin to wonder if we could
not manage between us to bring back the
old order of things."

Lisbeth was silent.

"It has a wonderful old-fashioned rose garden,
and you are fond of roses, Lisbeth."

"Yes," she murmured; "I'm very fond of roses."

"They would be in full bloom now," I suggested.

There was another pause, during which
the blackbird performed three or four
difficult arias with astonishing ease and
precision.

"Aunt Agatha is fond of roses, too!" said
Lisbeth at last very gravely.  "Poor dear
Aunt, I wonder what she would say if she
could see us now?"

"Such things are better left to the
imagination," I answered.

"I ought to write and tell her," murmured
Lisbeth.

"But you won't do that, of course?"

"No, I won't do that, if----"

"Well?"

"If you will give me--them."

"One," I demurred.

"Both!"

"On one condition, then--just once, Lisbeth?"

Her lips were very near, her lashes drooped,
and for one delicious moment she hesitated.
Then I felt a little tug at my coat pocket, and
springing to her feet she was away with "them"
clutched in her hand.

"Trickery!" I cried, and started in pursuit.

There is a path through the woods leading
to the Shrubbery at Fane Court.  Down this
she fled, and her laughter came to me on the
wind.  I was close upon her when she reached
the gate, and darting through, turned, flushed
but triumphant.

"I've won!" she mocked, nodding her head at me.

"Who can cope with the duplicity of a
woman?" I retorted.  "But, Lisbeth, you will
give me one--just one?"

"It would spoil the pair."

"Oh, very well," I sighed, "good-night,
Lisbeth," and lifting my cap I turned away.

There came a ripple of laughter behind me,
something struck me softly upon the cheek,
and, stooping, I picked up that which lay half
unrolled at my feet, but when I looked round
Lisbeth was gone.

So presently I thrust "them" into my
pocket and walked back slowly along the river
path toward the hospitable shelter of the Three
Jolly Anglers.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE SHERIFF OF NOTTINGHAM`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER II


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE SHERIFF OF NOTTINGHAM

.. vspace:: 2

To sit beside a river on a golden afternoon
listening to its whispered melody, while the air
about one is fragrant with summer, and heavy
with the drone of unseen wings!--What ordinary
mortal could wish for more?

And yet, though conscious of this fair world
about me, I was still uncontent, for my world
was incomplete--nay, lacked its most essential
charm, and I sat with my ears on the stretch,
waiting for Lisbeth's chance footstep on the
path and the soft whisper of her skirts.

The French are indeed a great people, for
among many other things they alone have
caught that magic sound a woman's garments
make as she walks, and given it to the world in
the one word "*frou-frou*."

O wondrous word!  O word sublime!  How
full art thou of delicate suggestion!  Truly
there can be no sweeter sound to ears masculine
upon a golden summer afternoon--or any
other time, for that matter--than the soft
"*frou-frou*" that tells him *She* is coming.

At this point my thoughts were interrupted
by something which hurtled through the air
and splashed into the water at my feet.  Glancing
at this object, I recognised the loud-toned
cricket cap affected by the Imp, and reaching
for it, I fished it out on the end of my rod.  It
was a hideous thing of red, white, blue, and
green--a really horrible affair, and therefore
much prized by its owner, as I knew.

Behind me the bank rose some four or five
feet, crowned with willows and underbrush,
from the other side of which there now came a
prodigious rustling and panting.  Rising to my
feet, therefore, I parted the leaves with extreme
care, and beheld the Imp himself.

He was armed to the teeth--that is to say,
a wooden sword swung at his thigh, a tin bugle
depended from his belt, and he carried a bow
and arrow.  Opposite him, was another boy,
particularly ragged at knee and elbow, who
stood with hands thrust into his pockets and grinned.

"Base caitiff, hold!" cried the Imp, fitting
an arrow to the string; "stand an' deliver.
Give me my cap, thou varlet, thou!"  The
boy's grin expanded.

"Give me my cap, base slave, or I'll shoot
you--by my troth!"  As he spoke the Imp
aimed his arrow, whereupon the boy ducked
promptly.

"I ain't got yer cap," he grinned from the
shelter of his arm.  "It's been an' gone an'
throwed itself into the river!"  The Imp
let fly his arrow, which was answered by a yell
from the Base Varlet.

"Yah!" he cried derisively as the Imp
drew his sword with a melodramatic flourish.
"Yah! put down that stick an' I'll fight yer."

The Imp indignantly repudiated his trusty
weapon being called "a stick"--"an' I don't
think," he went on, "that Robin Hood ever
fought without his sword.  Let's see what the
book says," and he drew a very crumpled
paper-covered volume from, his pocket, which
he consulted with knitted brows, while the
Base Varlet watched him, open-mouthed.

"Oh yes," nodded the Imp; "it's all right.
Listen to this!" and he read as follows in a
stern, deep voice:

"'Then Robin tossed aside his trusty blade,
an' laying bare his knotted arm, approached
the dastardly ruffian with many a merry quip
and jest, prepared for the fierce death-grip.'"

Hereupon the Imp laid aside his book and
weapons and proceeded to roll up his sleeve,
having done which to his satisfaction, he faced
round upon the Base Varlet.

"Have at ye, dastardly ruffian!" he cried,
and therewith ensued a battle, fierce and fell.

If his antagonist had it in height, the Imp
made up for it in weight--he is a particularly
solid Imp--and thus the struggle lasted for
some five minutes without any appreciable
advantage to either, when, in eluding one of
the enemy's desperate rushes, the Imp stumbled,
lost his balance, and next moment I had caught
him in my arms.  For a space "the enemy"
remained panting on the bank above, and then
with another yell turned and darted off among
the bushes.

"Hallo, Imp!" I said.

"Hallo, Uncle Dick!" he returned.

"Hurt?" I inquired.

"Wounded a bit in the nose, you know,"
he answered, mopping that organ with his
handkerchief; "but did you see me punch
'yon varlet' in the eye?"

"Did you, Imp?"

"I think so, Uncle Dick; only I do wish
I'd made him surrender.  The book says that
Robin Hood always made his enemies 'surrender
an' beg their life on trembling knee!'  Oh,
it must be fine to see your enemies on
their knee!"

"Especially if they tremble," I added.

"Do you s'pose that boy--I mean 'yon
base varlet' would have surrendered?"

"Not a doubt of it--if he hadn't happened
to push you over the bank first."

"Oh!" murmured the Imp rather dubiously.

"By the way," I said, "where is your
Auntie Lisbeth?"

"Well, I chased her up the big apple-tree
with my bow an' arrow."

"Of course," I nodded.  "Very right and proper!"

"You see," he explained, "I wanted her
to be a wild elephant an' she wouldn't."

"Extremely disobliging of her!"

"Yes, wasn't it?  So when she was right
up I took away the ladder an' hid it."

"Highly strategic, my Imp."

"So then I turned into Robin Hood, I
hung my cap on a bush to shoot at, you know,
an' 'the Base Varlet' came up an' ran off
with it."

"And there it is," I said, pointing to where
it lay.  The Imp received it with profuse thanks,
and, having wrung out the water, clapped it
upon his curls and sat down beside me.

"I found another man who wants to be
my uncle," he began.

"Oh, indeed?"

"Yes; but I don't want any more, you know."

"Of course not.  One like me suffices for
your everyday needs--eh, my Imp?"

The Imp nodded.  "It was yesterday,"
he continued.  "He came to see Auntie Lisbeth,
an' I found them in the summer-house in the
orchard.  An' I heard him say, 'Miss Elizabeth,
you're prettier than ever!'"

"Did he though, confound him!"

"Yes, an' then Auntie Lisbeth looked silly,
an' then he saw me behind a tree an' he looked
silly, too.  Then he said, 'Come here, little
man!'  An' I went, you know, though I do
hate to be called 'little man.'  Then he said
he'd give me a shilling if I'd call him Uncle
Frank."

"And what did you answer?"

"'Fraid I'm awfull' wicked," sighed the
Imp, shaking his head, "'cause I told him a
story."

"Did you, Imp?"

"Yes.  I said I didn't want his shilling,
an' I do, you know, most awfully, to buy a
spring-pistol with."

"Oh, well, we'll see what can be done about
the spring-pistol," I answered.  "And so you
don't like him, eh?"

"Should think not," returned the Imp
promptly.  "He's always so--so awfull' clean,
an' wears a little moustache with teeny sharp
points on it."

"Anyone who does that deserves all he
gets," I said, shaking my head.  "And what is
his name?"

"The Honourable Frank Selwyn, an' he
lives at Selwyn Park--the next house to ours."

"Oho!" I exclaimed, and whistled.

"Uncle Dick," said the Imp, breaking in
upon a somewhat unpleasant train of thought
conjured up by this intelligence, "will you
come an' be 'Little-John under the merry
greenwood tree'?  Do."

"Why, what do you know about 'the merry
greenwood,' Imp?"

"Oh, lots!" he answered, hastily pulling
out the tattered book.  "This is all about
Robin Hood an' Little-John.  Ben, the
gardener's boy, lent it to me.  Robin Hood
was a fine chap, an' so was Little-John, an'
they used to set ambushes an' capture the
Sheriff of Nottingham an' all sorts of caddish
barons, an' tie them to trees."

"My Imp," I said, shaking my head,
"the times are sadly changed.  One cannot tie
barons--caddish or otherwise--to trees in these
degenerate days."

"No, I s'pose not," sighed the Imp
dolefully; "but I do wish you would be
Little-John, Uncle Dick."

"'Oh, certainly, Imp, if it will make you any
happier; though of a truth, bold Robin," I
continued after the manner of the story-books,
"Little-John hath a mind to bide awhile and
commune with himself here; yet give but
one blast upon thy bugle horn and thou shalt
find my arm and quarter-staff ready and willing
enough, I'll warrant you!"

"That sounds awfull' fine, Uncle Dick, only--you
haven't got a quarter-staff, you know."

"Yea, 'tis here!" I answered, and detached
the lower joint of my fishing-rod.  The Imp
rose, and folding his arms, surveyed me as
Robin Hood himself might have done--that is
to say, with an "eye of fire."

"So be it, my faithful Little-John," quoth
he; "meet me at the Blasted Oak at midnight.
An' if I shout for help--I mean blow
my bugle--you'll come an' rescue me, won't
you, Uncle Dick?"

"Ay; trust me for that," I answered, all
unsuspecting.

"'Tis well!" nodded the Imp; and with
a wave of his hand he turned and scrambling
up the bank disappeared.

Of the existence of Mr. Selwyn I was already
aware, having been notified in this particular
by the Duchess, as I have told in the foregoing
narrative.

Now, a rival in air--in the abstract, so to
speak--is one thing, but a rival who was on a
sufficiently intimate footing to deal in personal
compliments, and above all, one who was
already approved of and encouraged by the
powers that be, in the person of Lady
Warburton--Lisbeth's formidable aunt--was another
consideration altogether.

"Miss Elizabeth, you're prettier than ever!"

Somehow the expression rankled.

What right had he to tell her such things?--and
in a summer-house, too;--the insufferable
audacity of the fellow!

A pipe being indispensable to the occasion,
I took out my matchbox, only to find that it
contained but a solitary vesta.

The afternoon had been hot and still hitherto,
with never so much as a breath of wind stirring;
but no sooner did I prepare to strike that match
than from somewhere there came a sudden
flaw of wind that ruffled the glassy waters of
the river and set every leaf whispering.  Waiting
until what I took to be a favourable opportunity,
with infinite precaution I struck a light.
It flickered in a sickly fashion for a moment
between my sheltering palms, and immediately
expired.

This is but one example of that "Spirit of
the Perverse" pervading all things mundane
which we poor mortals are called upon to bear
as best we may.  Therefore I tossed aside the
charred match, and, having searched fruitlessly
through my pockets for another, waited
philosophically for some "good Samaritan" to come
along.  The bank I have mentioned sloped
away gently on my left, thus affording an
uninterrupted view of the path.

Now as my eyes followed this winding path
I beheld an individual some distance away who
crawled upon his hands and knees, evidently
searching for something.  As I watched, he
succeeded in raking a Panama hat from
beneath a bush, and, having dusted it carefully
with his handkerchief, replaced it upon his
head and continued his advance.

With some faint hope that there might be a
loose match hiding away in some corner of my
pockets, I went through them again more
carefully, but alas! with no better success;
whereupon I gave it up and turned to glance
at the approaching figure.

My astonishment may be readily imagined
when I beheld him in precisely the same attitude
as before--that is to say, upon his hands and
knees.

I was yet puzzling over this phenomenon
when he again raked out the Panama on the
end of the hunting-crop he carried, dusted it
as before, looking about him the while with a
bewildered air, and, setting it firmly upon his
head, came down the path.

He was a tall young fellow, scrupulously neat
and well groomed from the polish of his brown
riding-boots to his small, sleek moustache,
which was parted with elaborate care and
twisted into two fine points.  There was about
his whole person an indefinable air of
self-complacent satisfaction, but he carried his
personality in his moustache, so to speak, which,
though small, as I say, and precise to a hair,
yet obtruded itself upon one in a vaguely
unpleasant way.  Noticing all this, I thought
I might make a very good guess as to his identity
if need were.

All at once, as I watched him--like a bird
rising from her nest the devoted Panama
rose in the air, turned over once or twice and
fluttered (I use the word figuratively) into a
bramble bush.  Bad language was writ large
in every line of his body as he stood looking
about him, the hunting-crop quivering in his
grasp.

It was at this precise juncture that his eye
encountered me, and, pausing only to recover
his unfortunate headgear, he strode toward
where I sat.

"Do you know anything about this?" he
inquired in a somewhat aggressive manner,
holding up a length of black thread.

"A piece of ordinary pack-thread," I answered,
affecting to examine it with a critical eye.

"Do you know anything about it?" he said
again, evidently in a very bad temper.

"Sir," I answered, "I do not."

"Because if I thought you did----"

"Sir," I broke in, "you'll excuse me, but
that seems a very remarkable hat of yours."

"I repeat, if I thought you did----"

"Of course," I went on, "each to his taste,
but personally I prefer one with less
'gymnastic' and more 'stay-at-home' qualities."

The hunting-crop was raised threateningly.

"Mr. Selwyn?" I inquired in a conversational tone.

The hunting-crop hesitated and was lowered.

"Well, sir?"

"Ah, I thought so," I said, bowing; "permit
me to trespass upon your generosity to the
extent of a match--or, say, a couple."

Mr. Selwyn remained staring down at me for
a moment, and I saw the points of his moustache
positively curling with indignation.  Then,
without deigning a reply, he turned on his heel
and strode away.  He had not gone more than
thirty or forty paces, however, when I heard
him stop and mutter savagely--I did not need
to look to learn the reason--I admit I chuckled.
But my merriment was short-lived, for a
moment later came the feeble squeak of a horn
followed by a shout and the Imp's voice upraised
in dire distress.

"Little-John!  Little-John! to the rescue!"
it called.

I hesitated, for I will freely confess that
when I had made that promise to the Imp it
was with small expectation that I should be
called upon to fulfil it.  Still, a promise is a
promise; so I sighed, and picking up the joint of
my fishing-rod, clambered up the bank.  Glancing
in the direction of the cries, I beheld Robin
Hood struggling in the foe's indignant grasp.

Now, there were but two methods of procedure
open to me as I could see--the serious
or the frankly grotesque.  Naturally I chose
the latter, and, quarter-staff on shoulder, I
swaggered down the path with an air that
Little-John himself might well have envied.

"Beshrew me!" I cried, confronting the
amazed Mr. Selwyn.  "Who dares lay hands
on bold Robin Hood?  Away, base rogue, hie
thee hence, or I am like to fetch thee a dour
ding on that pate o' thine!"

Mr. Selwyn loosed the Imp and stared at me
in speechless amazement, as well he might.

"Look ye, master," I continued, entering
into the spirit of the thing, "no man lays hand
on Robin Hood whiles Little-John can twirl a
staff or draw a bow-string--no!"

The Imp, retired to a safe distance, stood
hearkening in a transport till, bethinking him
of his part, he fished out the tattered book and
began surreptitiously turning over the pages;
as for Mr. Selwyn, he only fumbled at his
moustache and stared.

"Aye, but I know thee," I went on again;
"by thy sly and crafty look, by thy scalloped
cape and chain of office, I know thee for that
same Sheriff of Nottingham that hath sworn
to our undoing.  Go to! didst think to take
Robin--in the greenwood?  Out upon thee!
Thy years should have taught thee better
wisdom.  Out upon thee!"

"Now will I feed"--began the Imp, with
the book carefully held behind him--"now will
I feed fat mine vengeance--to thy knees for a
scurvy rascal!"

"Aye," I nodded, "'twere well he should
do penance on his marrow-bones from hither
to Nottingham Town; but as thou art
strong--be merciful, Robin."

Mr. Selwyn still curled the point of his
moustache.

"Are you mad," he inquired, "or only drunk?"

"As to that, good master Sheriff, it doth
concern thee nothing--but mark you! 'tis
an ill thing to venture within the greenwood
whiles Robin Hood and Little-John be
abroad."

Mr. Selwyn shrugged his shoulders and
turned to the Imp.

"I am on my way to see your Aunt Elizabeth,
and shall make it my particular care to
inform her of your conduct, and see that you
are properly punished.  As for you, sir," he
continued, addressing me, "I shall inform
the police that there is a madman at large."

At this double-barrelled threat the Imp
was plainly much dismayed, and coming up
beside me, slipped his hand into mine, and
I promptly pocketed it.

"Sweet master Sheriff," I said, sweeping
off my cap in true outlaw fashion, "the way
is long and something lonely; methinks--we
will therefore e'en accompany you, and may
perchance lighten the tedium with quip and
quirk and a merry stave or so."

Seeing the angry rejoinder upon Mr. Selwyn's
lips, I burst forth incontinent into the following
ditty, the words extemporised to the tune of
"Bonnie Dundee":

   |  "There lived a sheriff in Nottinghamshire,
   |    With a hey derry down and a down;
   |  He was fond of good beef, but was fonder of beer,
   |    With a hey derry down and a down."
   |

By the time we reached the Shrubbery
gate the Imp was in an ecstasy, and Mr. Selwyn
once more reduced to speechless indignation
and astonishment.  Here our ways diverged,
Mr. Selwyn turning toward the house, while the
Imp and I made our way to the orchard at the
rear.

"Uncle Dick," he said, halting suddenly,
"do you think he will tell--really?"

"My dear Imp," I answered, "a man who
wears 'points on his moustache' is capable
of anything."

"Then I shall be sent to bed for it, I know I
shall!"

"To run into a thread tied across the path
must have been very annoying," I said, shaking
my head thoughtfully, "especially with a
bran-new hat!"

"They were only 'ambushes,' you know, Uncle Dick."

"To be sure," I nodded.  "Now, observe,
my Imp, here is a shilling; go and buy that
spring-pistol you were speaking of, and take
your time about it; I'll see what can be done
in the meanwhile."

The Imp was reduced to incoherent thanks.

"That's all right," I said, "but you had
better hurry off."

He obeyed with alacrity, disappearing in the
direction of the village, while I went on towards
the orchard to find Lisbeth.  And presently,
sure enough, I did find her--that is to say, part
of her, for the foliage of that particular tree
happened to be very thick, and I could see
nothing of her but a foot.

A small and shapely foot it was that
swung audaciously to and fro; a foot in a
ridiculously out-of-place little patent-leather
shoe.

I approached softly, with the soul of me
in my eyes, so to speak, yet, despite my caution,
she seemed to become aware of my presence in
some way--the foot faltered in its swing and
vanished as the leaves were parted, and Lisbeth
looked down at me.

"Oh, it's you?" she said, and I fancied
she seemed quite pleased.  "You'll find a
step-ladder somewhere about--it can't be very far."

"Thanks," I answered, "but I don't want one."

"No; but I do; I want to get down.  That
little wretched Imp hid the ladder, and I've
been here all the afternoon," she wailed.

"But then you refused to be an elephant
you know," I reminded her.

"He shall go to bed for it--directly after
tea!" she said.

"Lisbeth," I returned, "I firmly believe
your nature to be altogether too sweet and
forgiving---"

"I want to come down!"

"Certainly," I said; "put your left foot
in my right hand, take firm hold of the branch
above, and let yourself sink gently into my
arms."

"Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly, "here's
Mr. Selwyn coming," and following her glance,
I saw a distinct Panama approaching.

"Lisbeth," said I, "are you anxious to see him?"

"In this ridiculous situation--of course not!"

"Very well then, hide--just sit there and
leave matters to me and----"

"Hush," she whispered, and at that moment
Selwyn emerged into full view.  Catching sight
of me he stopped in evident surprise.

"I was told I should find Miss Elizabeth
here," he said stiffly.

"It would almost appear that you had
been misinformed," I answered.  For a moment
he seemed undecided what to do.  Would
he go away? I wondered.  Evidently not
for after glancing about him he sat himself
down upon a rustic seat near by with a certain
resolute air that I did not like.  I must get
rid of him at all hazards.

"Sir," said I, "can I trespass on your
generosity to the extent of a match--or say a
couple?"  After a brief hesitation he drew
out a very neat silver match-box, which he
handed to me.

"A fine day, sir?" I said, puffing at my pipe.

Mr. Selwyn made no reply.

"I hear that the crops are looking
particularly healthy this year," I went on.

Mr. Selwyn appeared to be utterly lost in
the contemplation of an adjacent tree.

"To my mind an old apple-tree is singularly
picturesque," I began again.  "Nice nobbly
branches, don't you know?"

Mr. Selwyn began to fidget.

"And then," I pursued, "they tell me that
apples are so good for the blood."

Mr. Selwyn shifted his gaze to the toe of his
riding-boot, and for a space there was silence,
so much so, indeed, that an inquisitive rabbit
crept up and sat down to watch us with much
interest, until--evidently remembering some
pressing engagement--he disappeared with a
flash of his white tail.

"Talking of rabbits," said I, "they are
quite a pest in Australia, I believe, and are
exterminated by the thousand; I have often
wondered if a syndicate could not be formed
to acquire the skins.  This idea, so far as I know,
is original, but you are quite welcome to it."

Mr. Selwyn rose abruptly to his feet.

"I once in my boyhood possessed a rabbit--of
the lop-eared variety," I continued, "which
over-ate itself and died.  I remember I
attempted to skin it with dire results----"

"Sir," said Mr. Selwyn, "I beg to inform
you that I am not interested in rabbits,
lop-eared or otherwise; nor do I propose to become
so; furthermore----"

But at this moment of my triumph, even as
he turned to depart, something small and white
fluttered down from the branches above, and
the next moment Selwyn had stooped and
picked up a lace handkerchief.  Then, while
he stared at it and I at him, there came a
ripple of laughter and Lisbeth peered down at
us through the leaves.

"My handkerchief--thank you," she said, as
Selwyn stood somewhat taken aback by her
sudden appearance.

"The trees hereabouts certainly bear very
remarkable, not to say delightful fruit," he said.

"And as you will remember, I was always
particularly fond of apple-trees," I interpolated.

"Mr. Selwyn," smiled Lisbeth, "let me
introduce you to Mr. Brent."

"Sir," I said, "I am delighted to make your
acquaintance; have heard Her Grace of Chelsea
speak of you--her friends are mine, I trust?"

Mr. Selwyn's bow was rather more than distant.

"I have already had the pleasure of meeting
this--this very original gentleman before, and
under rather peculiar circumstances, Miss
Elizabeth," he said, and forthwith plunged into an
account of the whole affair of the "ambushes,"
while Lisbeth, perched upon her lofty throne,
surveyed us with an ever-growing astonishment.

"Whatever does it all mean?" she inquired
as Mr. Selwyn made an end.

"You must know then," I explained, leaning
upon my quarter-staff, "the Imp took it into
his head to become Robin Hood; I was Little-John,
and Mr. Selwyn here was so very obliging
as to enact the rôle of Sheriff of Nottingham----"

"I beg your pardon," exclaimed Mr. Selwyn
indignantly, turning upon me with a fiery eye.

"Everyone recollects the immortal exploits
of Robin and his 'merrie men,'" I continued,
"and you will, of course, remember that they
had a habit of capturing the Sheriff and tying
him up to trees and things.  Naturally the Imp
did not proceed to that extreme.  He contented
himself with merely capturing the Sheriff's hat.  I
think that you will agree that those 'ambushes'
worked like a charm, Mr. Selwyn?"

"Miss Elizabeth," he said, disdaining any
reply, "I am aware of the affection you lavish
upon your nephew; I hope that you will take
measures to restrain him from such pranks--such
very disgraceful pranks--in the future.
I myself should suggest a change of companionship"
(here he glanced at me) "as the most
salutary method.  Good afternoon, Miss
Elizabeth."  So saying, Mr. Selwyn raised his hat,
bowed stiffly to me, and, turning upon an
indignant heel, strode haughtily away.

"Well!" exclaimed Lisbeth with a look of
very real concern.

"Very well, indeed!" I nodded; "we are
alone at last."

"Oh, Dick! but to have offended him like this!"

"A highly estimable young gentleman," I
said, "though deplorably lacking in that saving
sense of humour which----"

"Aunt Agatha seems to think a great deal of him."

"So I understand," I nodded.

"Only this morning I received a letter from
her, in which, among other things, she pointed
out what a very excellent match he would be."

"And what do you think?"

"Oh, I agree with her, of course; his family
dates back ages and ages before the Conqueror,
and he has two or three estates besides Selwyn
Park, and one in Scotland."

"Do you know, Lisbeth, that reminds me of
another house--not at all big or splendid, but
of great age; a house which stands not far
from the village of Down, in Kent; a house
which is going to rack and ruin for want of a
mistress.  Sometimes, just as evening comes
on, I think it must dream of the light feet and
gentle hands it has known so many years ago,
and feels its loneliness more than ever."

"Poor old house!" said Lisbeth softly.

"Yes, a house is very human, Lisbeth,
especially an old one, and feels the need of
that loving care which only a woman can bestow,
just as we do ourselves."

"Dear old house!" said Lisbeth, more softly
than before.

"How much longer must it wait--when will
you come and care for it, Lisbeth?"

She started, and I thought her cheeks seemed
a trifle pinker than usual as her eyes met mine.

"Dick," she said wistfully, "I do wish you
would get the ladder; it's horribly uncomfortable
to sit in a tree for hours and----"

"First of all, Lisbeth, you will forgive the
Imp--full and freely, won't you?"

"He shall go to bed without any tea whatever."

"That will be rank cruelty, Lisbeth;
remember he is a growing boy."

"And I have been perched up here--between
heaven and earth--all the afternoon."

"Then why not come down?" I inquired.

"If you will only get the ladder----"

"If you will just put your right foot in
my----"

"I won't!" said Lisbeth.

"As you please," I nodded, and sitting down,
mechanically took out my pipe and began to
fill it, while she opened her book, frowning.
And after she had read very studiously for
perhaps two minutes, she drew out and consulted
her watch.  I did the same.

"A quarter to five!" I said.

Lisbeth glanced down at me with the air of
one who is deliberating upon two courses of
action, and when at length she spoke, every
trace of irritation had vanished completely.

"Dick, I'm awfully hungry."

"So am I," I nodded.

"It *would* be nice to have tea here under the
trees, wouldn't it?"

"It would be positively idyllic!" I said.

"Then if you will please find that ladder----"

"If you will promise to forgive the Imp----"

"Certainly not!" she retorted.

"So be it!" I sighed, and sat down again.
As I did so she launched her book at me.

"Wretch!" she exclaimed.

"Which means that you are ready to descend?"
I inquired, rising and depositing the
maltreated volume side by side with my pipe
on a rustic table near by; "very good.  Place
your right foot in----"

"Oh, all right," she said quite pettishly, and
next moment I had her in my arms.

"Dick! put me down--at once!"

"One moment, Lisbeth; that boy is a growing
boy----"

"And shall go to bed without any tea!" she
broke in.

"Very well, then," I said, and reading the
purpose in my eyes, she attempted, quite vainly,
to turn her head aside.

"You will find it quite useless to struggle,
Lisbeth," I warned.  "Your only course is to
remember that he is a growing boy."

"And you are a brute!" she cried.

"Undoubtedly," I answered, bending my
head nearer her petulant lips.  "But think of
the Imp in bed, lying there, sleepless, tealess,
and growing all the while as fast as he can."

Lisbeth surrendered, of course, but my
triumph was greatly tempered with disappointment.

"You will then forgive him for the
'ambushes' and cherish him with much tea?"
I stipulated, winking away a tress of hair that
tickled most provokingly.

"Yes," said Lisbeth.

"And no bed until the usual hour?"

"No," she answered, quite subdued; "and
now please do put me down."  So I sighed and
perforce obeyed.

She stood for a moment patting her rebellious
hair into order with deft, white fingers, looking
up at me meanwhile with a laugh in her eyes
that seemed almost a challenge.  I took a
hasty step toward her, but as I did so the Imp
hove into view.

"Hallo, Auntie Lisbeth!" he exclaimed,
eyeing her wonderingly; then his glance
wandered round as if in quest of something.

"How did she do it, Uncle Dick?" he inquired.

"Do what, my Imp?"

"Why, get out of the tree?"

I smiled and looked at Lisbeth.

"Did she climb down?"

"No," said I, shaking my head.

"Did she--jump down?"

"No, she didn't jump down."

"Well, did she--did she fly down?"

"No, nor fly down--she just came down."

"Yes, but how did she----"

"Reginald," said Lisbeth, "run and tell the
maids to bring tea out here--for three."

"Three?" echoed the Imp.  "But Dorothy
has gone out to tea, you know--is Uncle Dick
going to----"

"To be sure, Imp," I nodded.

"Oh, that is fine--hurrah, Little-John!"
he cried, and darted off.

"And you, Lisbeth?" I said, imprisoning
her hands.  "Are you glad also?"

Lisbeth did not speak, yet I was satisfied
nevertheless.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE DESPERADOES`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER III


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE DESPERADOES

.. vspace:: 2

Fane Court stands bowered in trees, with a wide
stretch of the greenest of green lawns sloping
down to the river stairs.

They are quaint old stairs, with a marble
rail and carved balusters, worn and crumbling,
yet whose decay is half hid by the kindly green
of lichens and mosses; stairs indeed for an idle
fellow to dream over on a hot summer's
afternoon--and they were, moreover, a favourite
haunt of Lisbeth.  It was here that I had
moored my boat, therefore, and now lay back,
pipe in mouth and with a cushion beneath my
head, in that blissful state between sleeping
and waking.

Now, as I lay, from the blue wreaths of my
pipe I wove me fair fancies:

And lo! the stairs were no longer deserted;
there were fine gentlemen, patched and powdered,
in silks and satins, with shoe-buckles that flashed
in the sun; there were dainty ladies in quilted
petticoats and flowered gowns, with most
wonderful coiffures; and there was Lisbeth,
fairer and daintier than them all, and there, too,
was I.  And behold how demurely she curtsied
and smiled behind her ivory fan!  With what
a grace I took a pinch of snuff!  With what
an air I bowed with hand on heart!  Then,
somehow, it seemed we were alone, she on the
top stair, I on the lower.  And standing thus
raised my arms to her with an appealing
gesture.  Her eyes looked down into mine, the
patch quivered at the corner of her scarlet
mouth, and there beside it was the dimple.
Beneath her petticoat I saw her foot in a little
pink satin shoe come slowly toward me and stop
again.  I watched, scarce breathing, for it
seemed my fate hung in the balance.  Would
she come down to Love and me, or----

"Ship ahoy!" cried a voice, and in that
moment my dream vanished.  I sighed, and
looking round, beheld a head peering at me over
the balustrade--a head bound up in a bandanna
handkerchief of large pattern and vivid colouring.

"Why, Imp!" I exclaimed.  But my surprise
abated when he emerged into full view.

About his waist was a broad-buckled belt,
which supported a wooden cutlass, two or three
murderous wooden daggers and a brace of toy
pistols; while upon his legs were a pair of
top-boots many sizes too large for him, so that
walking required no little care.  Yet on the
whole his appearance was decidedly effective.
There could be no mistake--he was a
blood-thirsty pirate!

The Imp is an artist to his grimy finger-tips.

"Avast, shipmate!" I cried.  "How's the wind?"

"Oh," he exclaimed, falling over his boots
with eagerness, "do take me in your boat, an'
let's be pirates, will you, Uncle Dick?"

"Well, that depends.  Where is your Auntie
Lisbeth?"

"Mr. Selwyn is going to row her and Dorothy
up the river."

"Oh! he is!"

"Yes, an' they won't take me."

"Why not, my Imp?"

"'Cause they're 'fraid I should upset the
boat.  So I thought I'd come an' ask you to be
a pirate, you know.  I'll lend you my best
dagger an' one of my pistols.  Will you, Uncle
Dick?"

"Come aboard, shipmate, if you are for
Hispaniola, the Tortugas, and the Spanish
Main," said I, whereupon he scrambled in,
losing a boot overboard in his haste, which
necessitated much intricate angling with the
boathook ere it was recovered.

"They're Peter's, you know," he explained,
as he emptied out the water.  "I took them
out of the harness-room; a pirate must have
boots, you know, but I'm afraid Peter'll say
things."

"Not a doubt of it when he sees them," I said
as we pushed off.

"I wish," he began, looking round thoughtfully
after a minute or so, "I wish we could get
a plank or a yard-arm from somewhere."

"What for, my Imp?"

"Why, don't you remember, pirates always
had a plank for people to 'walk,' you know,
an' used to 'swing them up to the yard-arm'?"

"You seem to know all about it," I said, as I
pulled slowly down stream.

"Oh yes; I read it all in *Scarlet Sam, the
Scourge of the South Seas*.  Scarlet Sam was
fine.  He used to stride up and down the
quarterdeck an' flourish his cutlass, an' his eyes
would roll, an' he'd foam at the mouth, an'----"

"Knock everybody into the 'lee scuppers,'"
I put in.

"Yes," cried the Imp in a tone of unfeigned
surprise.  "How did you know that, Uncle Dick?"

"Once upon a time," I said, as I swung
lazily at the sculls, "I was a boy myself, and
read a lot about a gentleman named 'Beetle-browed
Ben.'  I tell you, Imp, he was a terror
for foaming and stamping, if you like, and used
to flog three or four people every morning,
just to get an appetite for breakfast."  The
Imp regarded me with round eyes.

"And then he was a very wonderful man
in other ways.  You see, he was always getting
himself shot through the head, or run through
the body, but it never hurt Beetle-browed
Ben--not a bit of it."

"An' did he 'swing people at the yard-arm--with
a bitter smile'?"

"Lots of 'em!" I answered.

"An' make them 'walk the plank--with a
horrid laugh'?"

"By the hundreds!"

"An' 'maroon them on a desolate island--with
a low chuckle'?"

"Many a time," I answered; "and generally
with a chuckle."

"Oh, I should like to read about him!"
said the Imp with a deep sigh; "will you lend
me your book about him, Uncle Dick?"

I shook my head.  "Unfortunately, that,
together with many other valued possessions,
has been ravaged from me by the ruthless
maw of Time," I replied sadly.

The Imp sat plunged in deep thought, trailing
his fingers pensively in the water.

"And so your Auntie Lisbeth is going for a
row with Mr. Selwyn, is she?" I said.

"Yes, an' I told her she could come an'
be a pirate with me if she liked--but she
wouldn't."

"Strange!" I murmured.

"Uncle Dick, do you think Auntie Lisbeth
is in love with Mr. Selwyn?"

"What?" I exclaimed, and stopped rowing.

"I mean, do you think Mr. Selwyn is in love
with Auntie Lisbeth?"

"My Imp, I'm afraid he is.  Why?"

"'Cause cook says he is, an' so does Jane,
an' they know all about love, you know.  I've
heard them read it out of a book lots an' lots of
times.  But I think love is awfull' silly, don't
you, Uncle Dick?"

"Occasionally I greatly fear so," I sighed.

"You wouldn't go loving anybody, would
you, Uncle Dick?"

"Not if I could help it," I answered, shaking
my head; "but I do love someone, and that's
the worst of it."

"Oh!" exclaimed the Imp, but in a tone
more of sorrow than anger.

"Don't be too hard on me, Imp," I said;
"your turn may come when you are older;
you may love somebody one of these days."

The Imp frowned and shook his head.  "No,"
he answered sternly; "when I grow up big I
shall keep ferrets.  Ben, the gardener's boy,
has one with the littlest, teeniest pink nose you
ever saw."

"Certainly a ferret has its advantage," I
mused.  "A ferret will not frown upon one
one minute and flash a dimple at one the next.
And then, again, a ferret cannot be reasonably
supposed to possess an aunt.  There is
something to be said for your idea after all, Imp."

"Why, then, let's be pirates, Uncle Dick,"
he said with an air of finality.  "I think I'll
be Scarlet Sam, 'cause I know all about him, an'
you can be Timothy Bone, the boatswain."

"Aye, aye, sir," I responded promptly;
"only I say, Imp, don't roll your eyes so
frightfully or you may roll yourself overboard."

Scorning reply, he drew his cutlass, and
setting it between his teeth in most approved
pirate fashion, sat, pistol in hand, frowning
frantically at creation in general.

"Starboard your helm--starboard!" he
cried, removing his weapon for the purpose.

"Starboard it is!" I answered.

"Clear away for action!" growled the Imp.
"Double-shot the carronades, and, bo'sun,
pipe all hands to quarters."

Hereupon I executed a lively imitation of a
boatswain's whistle.

Most children are blessed with imagination,
but the Imp in this respect is gifted beyond his
years.  For him there is no such thing as
"pretence"; he has but to close his eyes a
moment to open them upon a new and a very
real world of his own--the golden world of
Romance, wherein so few of us are privileged
to walk in these cold days of common sense.
And yet it is a very fair world, peopled with
giants and fairies; where castles lift their
grim, embattled towers; where magic woods
and forests cast their shade, full of strange
beasts; where knights ride forth with lance in
rest and their armour shining in the sun.  And
right well we know them.  There is Roland,
Sir William Wallace, and Hereward the Wake;
Ivanhoe, the Black Knight, and bold Robin
Hood.  And there, too, is King Arthur with
his Knights of the Round Table--but the throng
is very great, and who could name them all?

So the Imp and I sailed away into this
wonderful world of romance aboard our gallant
vessel, which, like any other pirate ship that
ever existed--in books or out of them--"luffed,
and filling upon another tack, stood away in
pursuit of the Spanish treasure galleon in the
offing."

What pen could justly describe the fight
which followed--how guns roared and pistols
flashed, while the air was full of shouts and
cries and the thundering din of battle; how
Scarlet Sam foamed and stamped and flourished
his cutlass; how Timothy Bone piped his
whistle as a bo'sun should?  We had already
sunk five great galleons and were hard at work
with a sixth, which was evidently in a bad way,
when Scarlet Sam ceased foaming and pointed
over my shoulder with his dripping blade.

"Sail ho!" he cried.

"Where away?" I called back.

"Three points on the weather bow."

As he spoke came the sound of oars, and
turning my head, I saw a skiff approaching,
sculled by a man in irreproachable flannels and
straw hat.

"Why, it's--it's him!" cried the Imp
suddenly.  "Heave to, there!" he bellowed
in the voice of Scarlet Sam.  "Heave to, or I'll
sink you!"  Almost with the words, and
before I could prevent him, he gave a sharp tug
to the rudder-lines; there was an angry
exclamation behind me, a shock, a splintering of
wood, and I found myself face to face with
Mr. Selwyn, flushed and hatless.

Mr. Selwyn exclaimed, and proceeded to
fish for his hat with the shaft of his broken
oar.

The Imp sat for a moment half frightened
at his handiwork, then rose to his feet, cutlass
in hand, but I punted him gently back into his
seat with my foot.

"Really," I began, "I'm awfully sorry,
you know--er----"

"May I inquire," said Mr. Selwyn cuttingly,
as he surveyed his dripping hat--"may I inquire
how it all happened?"

"A most deplorable accident, I assure you.
If I can tow you back I shall be delighted, and
as for the damage----"

"The damage is trifling, thanks," he returned
icily; "it is the delay that I find annoying."

"You have my very humblest apologies," I
said meekly.  "If I can be of any service----"

Mr. Selwyn stopped me with a wave of his hand.

"Thank you, I think I can manage," he
said; "but I should rather like to know how
it happened.  You are unused to rowing, I
presume?"

"Sir," I answered, "it was chiefly owing to
the hot-headedness of Scarlet Sam, the Scourge
of the South Seas."

"I beg your pardon?" said Mr. Selwyn
with raised brows.

"Sir," I went on, "at this moment you
probably believe yourself to be Mr. Selwyn of
Selwyn Park.  Allow me to dispel that illusion;
you are, on the contrary, Don Pedro Vasquez
da Silva, commanding the *Esmeralda* galleasse,
bound out of Santa Cruz.  In us you behold
Scarlet Sam and Timothy Bone, of the good
ship *Black Death*, with the 'skull and
crossbones' fluttering at our peak.  If you don't
see it, that is not our fault."

Mr. Selwyn stared at me in wide-eyed
astonishment, then shrugging his shoulders, turned his
back upon me and paddled away as best he might.

"Well, Imp," I said, "you've done it this time!"

"'Fraid I have," he returned; "but oh! wasn't
it grand--and all that about Don Pedro
an' the treasure galleon!  I do wish I knew as
much as you do, Uncle Dick.  I'd be a real
pirate then."

"Heaven forfend!" I exclaimed.

So I presently turned and rowed back upstream,
not a little perturbed in my mind as
to the outcome of the adventure.

"Not a word, mind!" I cautioned as I caught
sight of a certain dainty figure watching our
approach from the shade of her parasol.  The
Imp nodded, sighed, and sheathed his cutlass.

"Well!" said Lisbeth as we glided up to
the water-stairs; "I wonder what mischief
you have been after together?"

"We have been floating upon a river of
dreams," I answered, rising and lifting my hat;
"we have likewise discoursed of many things.
In the words of the immortal Carroll:

   |  "'Of shoes, and ships, and sealing-wax, and cabbages,
   |        and----'"
   |

"Pirates!" burst out the Imp.

"This dream river of ours," I went on,
quelling him with a glance, "has carried us
to you, which is very right and proper.  Dream
rivers always should, more especially when
you sit

   |  "''Mid sunshine throned, and all alone.'"
   |

"But I'm not all alone, Dick."

"No; I'm here," said a voice, and Dorothy
appeared with her small and very fluffy kitten
under her arm as usual.  "We are waiting for
Mr. Selwyn, you know.  We've waited, oh! a
long, long time, but he hasn't come, and Auntie
says he's a wretch and----"

"Dorothy!" exclaimed Lisbeth, frowning.

"Yes, you did, Auntie," said Dorothy,
nodding her head.  "I heard you when Louise
ran up a tree and I had to coax her back; and
I have a clean frock on, too, and Louise will
be, oh, so disappointed!"  Here she kissed the
fluffy kitten on the nose.  "So he is a wretch;
don't you think so, Uncle Dick?"

"Such delay is highly reprehensible," I nodded.

"I'm glad you've come, Uncle Dick, and so
is Auntie.  She was hoping----"

"That will do, Dorothy!" Lisbeth interrupted.

"I wonder what she was hoping?" I sighed.

"If you say another word, Dorothy, I won't
tell you any more about the Fairy Prince,
said Lisbeth.

"Why, then," I continued, seeing the threat
had the desired effect, "since Mr. Selwyn
hasn't turned up, perhaps you would care
to----"

--"Be a pirate!" put in the Imp.

"To come for a row with us?" I corrected.

--"Aboard the good ship *Black Death*," he
went on, "'with the skull an' crossbones at
our peak.'"

"Thanks," said Lisbeth, "but really, I
don't think I should.  What a horrible name!"

"What's in a name? a boat by any
other----" I misquoted.  "If you like, we'll call
it the *Joyful Hope*, bound for the Land of
Heart's Delight."

Lisbeth shook her head, but I fancied the
dimple peeped at me for a moment.

"It would be a pity to disappoint Louise,"
I said, reaching up to stroke the fluffy kitten.

"Yes," cried Dorothy, "do let's go, Auntie."

"For the sake of Louise," I urged and held
out my arms to her.  Lisbeth was standing on
the top stair and I on the lower, in exactly the
same attitudes as I had beheld in my vision.  I
saw her foot come slowly toward me and stop
again; her red lips quivered into a smile, and
lo, there was the dimple!  Dorothy saw it,
too--children are wonderfully quick in such
matters--and next moment was ensconced in the boat,
Louise in her lap, and there was nothing left
for Lisbeth but to follow.

The Imp went forward to keep a "look-out,"
and finding a length of fishing-line, announced
his intention of "heaving the lead."

I have upon several occasions ridden with
Lisbeth--she is a good horsewoman--frequently
danced with her, but never before had I been
with her in a boat.  The novelty of it was
therefore decidedly pleasing, the more so as
she sat so close that by furtively reaching out
a foot I could just touch the hem of her dress.

"Uncle Dick," said Dorothy, looking up at
me with her big grey eyes, "where is the Land
of Heart's Delight?"

"It lies beyond the River of Dreams," I answered.

"Is it far away?"

"I'm afraid it is, Dorothy."

"Oh!--and hard to get to?"

"Yes; though it depends altogether upon
who is at the helm."

Lisbeth very slowly began to tie a knot in
the rudder-line.

"Well, Auntie's steering now.  Could she
get us there?"

"Yes, she could get us there, if she would."

"Oh!" cried Dorothy, "do--do steer for
the Land of Heart's Delight, Auntie Lisbeth;
it sounds so pretty, and I'm sure Louise would
like it ever so much."

But Lisbeth only laughed, and tied another
knot in the rudder-line.

"The Land of Heart's Delight!" repeated
Dorothy.  "It sounds rather like Auntie's tale
of the Fairy Prince.  His name was Trueheart."

"And what was Prince Trueheart like?" I
inquired.

"Fine!" broke in the Imp.  "He used to
fight dragons, you know."

"And he lived in a palace of crystal,"
continued Dorothy, "and he was so good and
kind that the birds used to make friends with
him!"

"An' he wore gold armour, an' a big feather
in his helmet!" supplemented the Imp.

"And of course he loved the beautiful
princess," I ended.

"Yes," nodded Dorothy; "but how did
you know there was a beautiful princess?"

"Uncle Dick knows everything, of course,"
returned the Imp sententiously.

"Do you think the beautiful princess loved
the prince, Dorothy?" I asked, glancing at
Lisbeth's averted face.

"Well," answered Dorothy, pursing her
mouth thoughtfully, "I don't know, Uncle
Dick; you see, Auntie hasn't got to that yet,
but everybody loves somebody sometime, you
know.  Betty--she's our cook, you know--Betty
says all nice tales end up in marrying
and living happy ever after."

"Not a doubt of it," said I, resting on my
oars.  "What do you think, Lisbeth?"  She
leaned back and regarded me demurely beneath
her long lashes for a moment.

"I think," she answered, "that it would be
much nicer if you would go on rowing."

"One more question," I said.  "Tell me, has
this Prince Trueheart got a moustache?"

"Like Mr. Selwyn?" cried the Imp; "should
think not.  The prince was a fine chap, an'
used to kill dragons, you know."

"Ah!  I'm glad of that," I murmured,
passing my fingers across my shaven upper
lip; "very glad indeed."

Lisbeth laughed, but I saw her colour deepen,
and she looked away.

"Oh, it must be lovely to kill a dragon!"
sighed the Imp.

Now, as he spoke, chancing to look round,
I saw in the distance a man in a boat, who
rowed most lustily--and the man wore a
Panama.

Hereupon, taking a fresh grip upon my long
sculls, I began to row--to row, indeed, as I
had not done for many a year, with a long,
steady stroke that made the skiff fairly
leap.

Who does not know that feeling of exhilaration
as the blades grip the water and the gentle
lapping at the bow swells into a gurgling song?
The memorable time when I had "stroked"
Cambridge to victory was nothing to this.
Then it was but empty glory that hung in the
balance, while now----!

I settled my feet more firmly, and lengthening
my stroke, pulled with a will.  Lisbeth sat up,
and I saw her fingers tighten upon the rudder-line.

"You asked me to row, you know," I said
in response to her look.

"Yo-ho!" roared Scarlet Sam in the gruffest
of nautical tones.  "By the deep nine, an'
the wind's a-lee, so heave, my mariners
all--O!"

At first we began to gain considerably upon
our pursuer, but presently I saw him turn his
head, saw the Panama tossed aside as Mr. Selwyn
settled down to real business--and the
struggle began.

Very soon, probably owing to the fixedness
of my gaze, or my unremitting exertion or
both, Lisbeth seemed to become aware of the
situation, and turned to look over her shoulder.
I set my teeth as I waited to meet her indignant
look, for I had determined to continue the
struggle, come what might.  But when at last
she did confront me her eyes were shining, her
cheeks were flushed, and there actually
was--the dimple.

"Sit still, children," she said, and that was
all; but for one moment her eyes looked into mine.

The old river has witnessed many a hard-fought
race in its time, but never was there
one more hotly contested than this.  Never
was the song of the water more pleasant to my
ear, never was the spring and bend of the long
sculls more grateful, as the banks swept by
faster and faster.  No pirate straining every
inch of canvas to escape well-merited capture,
no smuggler fleeing for some sheltered cove,
with the revenue cutter close astern, ever
experienced a keener excitement than did we.

The Imp was in a perfect ecstasy of delight;
even Dorothy forgot her beloved Louise for the
time, while Lisbeth leaned toward me, the
tiller-lines over her shoulders, her lips parted
and a light in her eyes I had never seen there
before.  And yet Selwyn hung fast in our rear,
if he was deficient in a sense of humour, he
could certainly row.

"He was an Oxford Blue," said Lisbeth,
speaking almost in a whisper, "and he has an
empty boat!"

I longed to kiss the point of her little tan
shoe or the hem of her dress for those impulsive
words, and tried to tell her so with my
eyes--breath was too precious just then.  Whether
she understood or not I won't be sure, but
I fancy she did from the way her lashes
drooped.

"Oh, my eyes!" bellowed Scarlet Sam;
"keep her to it, quartermaster, an' take a
turn at the mizzen-shrouds!"

When I again glanced at our pursuer I saw
that he was gaining.  Yes, there could be no
mistake; slowly but surely, try as I would,
the distance between us lessened and lessened,
until he was so near that I could discern the
very parting of his back hair.  So perforce,
bowing to the inevitable, I ceased my exertions,
contenting myself with a long, easy stroke.
Thus by the time he was alongside I had in
some measure regained my breath.

"Miss--Eliz--beth," he panted, very hot of
face and moist of brow, "must beg--the--favour--of
few words with you."

"With pleasure, Mr. Selwyn," answered
Lisbeth, radiant with smiles; "as many as
you wish."  Forthwith Mr. Selwyn panted out
his indictment against the desperadoes of the
*Black Death*, while the Imp glanced apprehensively
from him to Lisbeth and stole his
hand furtively into mine.

"I should not have troubled you with
this, Miss Elizabeth," Selwyn ended, "but
that I would not have you think me neglectful
of an appointment, especially with you."

"Indeed, Mr. Selwyn, I am very grateful
to you for opening my eyes to such a--a----"

"Very deplorable accident," I put in.

"I--I was perfectly certain," she continued,
without so much as glancing in my direction,
"that you would never have kept me waiting
without sufficient reason.  And now, Mr. Brent,
if you will be so obliging as to take us to the
bank, Mr. Selwyn shall row us back--if he will."

"Delighted!" he murmured.

"I ordered tea served in the orchard at
five o'clock," smiled Lisbeth, "and it is only
just four, so----"

"Which bank would you prefer," I
inquired--"the right or the left?"

"The nearest," said Lisbeth.

"Which should you think was the nearest,
Mr. Selwyn?" I queried.

Disdaining any reply, Selwyn ran his skiff
ashore, and I obediently followed.  Without
waiting for my assistance, Lisbeth deftly made
the exchange from one boat to the other,
followed more slowly by Dorothy.

"Come, Reginald," she said, as Selwyn
made ready to push off; "we're waiting for
you."  The Imp squatted closer to me.

"Reginald Augustus!" said Lisbeth.  The
Imp shuffled uneasily.

"Are you coming?" inquired Lisbeth.

"I--I'd rather be a pirate with Uncle Dick,
please, Auntie Lisbeth," he said at last.

"Very well," nodded Lisbeth with an air of
finality; "then of course I must punish you."  But
her tone was strangely gentle, and as she
turned away I'll vow I saw the ghost of that
dimple--yes, I'll vow it.

So we sat very lonely and dejected, the Imp
and I, desperadoes though we were, as we
watched Selwyn's boat grow smaller and smaller
until it was lost round a bend in the river.

"'Spect I shall get sent to bed for this,"
said the Imp after a long pause.

"I think it more than probable, my Imp."

"But then, it was a very fine race--oh,
beautiful!" he sighed; "an' I couldn't desert
my ship an' Timothy Bone, an' leave you
here all by yourself--now could I, Uncle Dick?"

"Of course not, Imp."

"What are you thinking about, Uncle
Dick?" he inquired, as I stared, chin in hand,
at nothing in particular.

"I was wondering, Imp, where the River
of Dreams was going to lead me, after all."

"To the Land of Heart's Delight, of course,"
he answered promptly; "you said so, you
know, an' you never tell lies, Uncle
Dick--never."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`AT THE THREE JOLLY ANGLERS`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER IV


.. class:: center medium bold

   AT THE THREE JOLLY ANGLERS

.. vspace:: 2

The Three Jolly Anglers is an inn of a distinctly
jovial aspect, with its toppling gables, its
creaking sign, and its bright lattices, which,
like merry little twinkling eyes, look down
upon the eternal river to-day with the same
half-waggish, half-kindly air as they have done
for generations.

Upon its battered sign, if you look closely
enough, you may still see the Three Anglers
themselves, somewhat worn and dim with time
and stress of weather, yet preserving their
jollity through it all with an heroic fortitude--as
they doubtless will do until they fade away
altogether.

It is an inn with raftered ceilings and narrow,
winding passageways; an inn with long low
chambers full of unexpected nooks and corners,
with great four-post beds built for tired giants
it would seem, and wide deep chimneys
reminiscent of Gargantuan rounds of beef; an inn
whose very walls seem to exude comfort, as it
were--the solid comfortable comfort of a
bygone age.

Of all the many rooms here to be found I love
best that which is called the Sanded Parlour.
Never were wainscoted walls of a mellower tone,
never was pewter more gleaming, never were
things more bright and speckless, from the worn
quaint andirons on the hearth to the brass-bound
blunderbuss, with the two ancient fishing-rods
above.  At one end of the room was a long
low casement, and here I leaned, watching the
river near by, and listening to its never-ceasing
murmur.  I had dined an hour ago; the beef
had been excellent--it always is at the Three
Jolly Anglers; also my pipe seemed to have
an added flavour.

Yet, despite all this, I did not enjoy that
supreme content--that philosophical calm
which such beef and such surroundings surely
warranted.  But then, who ever heard of
Love and Philosophy going together?

Away over the uplands a round harvest
moon was beginning to rise, flecking the shadowy
waters with patches of silver, and, borne to my
ears upon the warm still air, came the throb of
distant violins.  This served only to deepen
my melancholy, reminding me that somebody
or other was giving a ball to-night; and
Lisbeth was there, and Mr. Selwyn was there,
of course, and I--I was here--alone with the
brass-bound blunderbuss, the ancient fishing-rods,
and the antique andirons on the hearth;
with none to talk to save the moon, and the
jasmine that had crept in at the open casement.
And, noting the splendour of the night, I
experienced towards Lisbeth a feeling of pained
surprise that she should prefer the heat and
garish glitter of a ballroom to walking beneath
such a moon with me.

Indeed, it was a wondrous night! one of
those warm still nights which seem full of vague
and untold possibilities!  A night with magic
in the air, when elves and fairies dance within
their grassy rings, or, hiding amid the
shade of trees, peep out at one between the
leaves; or again, some gallant knight on mighty
steed may come pacing slowly from the forest
shadows, with the moonlight bright upon his
armour.

Yes, surely there was magic in the air to-night!
I half-wished that some enchanter might, by a
stroke of his fairy wand, roll back the years and
leave me in the brutal, virile, Good Old Times,
when men wooed and won their loves by might
and strength of arm, and not by gold, as is
so often the case in these days of ours.  To be
mounted upon my fiery steed, lance in hand and
sword on thigh, riding down the leafy alleys
of the woods yonder, led by the throbbing,
sighing melody.  To burst upon the astonished
dancers like a thunder-clap; to swing her up
to my saddle-bow, and, clasped in each other's
arms, to plunge into the green mystery of
forest.

My fancies had carried me thus far when I
became aware of a small furtive figure dodging
from one patch of shadow to another.  Leaning
from the window I made out the form of a
somewhat disreputable urchin, who, dropping
upon hands and knees, proceeded to crawl
towards me over the grass with a show of the
most elaborate caution.

"Hallo!" I exclaimed, "halt and give the
counter-sign!"  The urchin sat up on his heels
and stared at me with a pair of very round
bright eyes.

"Please, are you Mr. Uncle Dick?" he inquired.

"Oh," I said, "you come from the Imp,
I presume."  The boy nodded a round head,
at the same time fumbling with something in
his pocket.

"And who may you be?" I inquired conversationally.

"I'm Ben, I am."

"The gardener's boy?"  Again the round
head nodded acquiescence, as with much
writhing and twisting he succeeded in drawing
a heterogeneous collection of articles from
his pocket, whence he selected a very dirty and
crumpled piece of paper.

"He wants a ladder so's he can git out,
but it's too big fer me to lift, so he told me to
give you this here so's you would come an'
rescue him--please, Mr. Uncle Dick."  With
which lucid explanation Ben handed me the
crumpled note.

Spreading it out upon the window-sill, I
managed to make out as follows:

.. vspace:: 2

"DEAR UNKEL DICK,--I'm riting this with
my hart's blood bekors I'm a prisner in a
gloomie dungun.  It isn't really my heart's
blood it's only red ink, so don't worry.  Aunty
lisbath cent me to bed just after tea bekors
she said i'm norty, and when she'd gone Nurse
locked me in so i can't get out and i'm tired of
being a prisner, so please i want you to get the
ladda and let me eskape, please unkel dick,
will you.--yours till deth,

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent

"REGINALD AUGUSTUS."

.. vspace:: 1

"Auntie was reading Ivanhoe to us and i've
been the *Black Knight* and you can be Gurth
the swine-herd if you like."

.. vspace:: 2

"So that's the way of it?" I said.  "Well! well! such
an appeal shall not go unanswered,
at least.  Wait there, my trusty Benjamin,
and I'll be with you anon."  Pausing only to
refill my tobacco-pouch and get my cap, I
sallied out into the fragrant night, and set off
along the river, the faithful Benjamin trotting
at my heels.

Very soon we were skirting blooming flowerbeds
and crossing trim lawns, until at length
we reached a certain wing of the house, from a
window of which a pillow-case was dangling
by means of a string.

"That's for provisions!" volunteered Ben.
"We pertended he was starving, so he lets it
down, an' I fill it with onions out of the vegetable
garden."

At this moment the curly head of the Imp
appeared at the window, followed by the
major portion of his person.

"Oh, Uncle Dick!" he cried, in a loud
stage-whisper, "I think you had better be the
Black Knight, 'cause you're so big, you know."

"Imp," I said, "get in at once!  Do you
want to break your neck?"

The Imp obediently wriggled into safety.

"The ladder's in the tool-house, Uncle Dick--Ben'll
show you.  Will you get it, please?"
he pleaded in a wheedling tone.

"First of all, my Imp, why did your Auntie
Lisbeth send you to bed--had you been a very
naughty boy?"

"No-o," he answered, after a moment's
pause, "I don't think I was so very naughty--I
only painted Dorothy like an Indian chief--green,
with red spots, an' she looked fine, you know."

"Green, with red spots!" I repeated.

"Yes; only Auntie didn't seem to like it."

"I fear your Auntie Lisbeth lacks an eye for
colour."

"Yes, 'fraid so; she sent me to bed for it,
you know."

"Still, Imp, under the circumstances, I think
it would be best if you got undressed and
to sleep."

"Oh, but I can't, Uncle Dick!"

"Why not, my Imp?"

"'Cause the moon's so very bright, an'
everything looks so fine down there, an' I'm sure
there's fairies about--Moon-fairies, you
know--and I'm miserable."

"Miserable, Imp?"

"Yes, Auntie Lisbeth never came to kiss me
good-night, an' so I can't go to sleep, Uncle Dick!"

"Why, that alters the case, certainly."

"Yes, an' the ladder's in the tool-house."

"Imp," I said, as I turned to follow Benjamin,
"oh, you Imp!"

There are few things in this world more
difficult to manage than a common or garden
ladder; among other peculiarities it has a
most unpleasant knack of kicking out suddenly
just as everything appears to be going smoothly,
which is apt to prove disconcerting to the novice.
However, after sundry mishaps of the kind, I
eventually got it reared up to the window, and
a moment afterwards the Imp had climbed
down and stood beside me, drawing the breath
of freedom.

As a precautionary measure we proceeded
to hide the ladder in a clump of rhododendrons
hard by, and had but just done so when
Benjamin uttered a cry of warning and took
to his heels, while the Imp and I sought shelter
behind a friendly tree.  And not a whit too
soon, for, scarcely had we done so, when two
figures came round a corner of the house--two
figures who walked very slowly and very
close together.

"Why, it's Betty--the cook, you know--an'
Peter!" whispered the Imp.

Almost opposite our hiding-place Betty
paused to sigh heavily and stare up at the
moon.

"Oh, Peter!" she murmured, "look at that
there orb!"

"Ar!" said Peter, gazing obediently upward.

"Peter, ain't it 'eavingly; don't it stir your
very soul?"

"Ar!" said Peter.

"Peter, are you sure you loves me more than
that Susan thing at the doctor's?"

A corduroy coat-sleeve crept slowly about
Betty's plump waist, and there came the
unmistakable sound of a kiss.

"Really and truly, Peter?"

"Ar!" said Peter.

The kissing sound was repeated, and they
walked on once more, only closer than ever now
on account of the corduroy coat-sleeve.

"Those two are in love, you know," nodded
the Imp.  "Peter says the cheese-cakes she
makes are enough to drive any man into
marrying her, whether he wants to or not, an'
I heard Betty telling Jane that she adored
Peter, 'cause he had so much soul!  Why is it,"
he inquired thoughtfully, as he watched the
two out of sight, "why is it, Uncle Dick, that
people in love always look so silly?"

"Do you think so?" I asked, as I paused to
light my pipe.

"'Course I do!" returned the Imp; "what's
anyone got to put their arm round girls for,
just as if they wanted holding up?--I think it's
awfull' silly!"

"Of course it is, Imp--your wisdom is
unassailable.  Still, do you know, I can
understand a man being foolish enough to do
it--occasionally."

"But you never would, Uncle Dick?"

"Alas, Imp!" I said, shaking my head,
"Fortune seems to preclude all chances of it."

"'Course you wouldn't," he exclaimed;
"an' Ivanhoe wouldn't----"

"Ah, but he did!" I put in; "have you
forgotten Rowena?"

"Oh!" cried the Imp dolefully, "do you
really think he ever put his arm round her?"

"Sure of it," I nodded.

The Imp seemed much cast down and even
shocked.

"But there was the Black Knight," he said,
brightening suddenly; "Richard of the Lion
Heart, you know--he never did!"

"Not while he was fighting, of course,
but afterwards, if history is to be believed, he
very frequently did; and we are all alike,
Imp--everybody does sooner or later."

"But why?  Why should anyone want to
put their arm round a girl, Uncle Dick?"

"For the simple reason that the girl is there
to put it round, I suppose.  And now, Imp, let
us talk of fish."

Instinctively we had wandered towards the
river, and now we stood to watch the broad,
silver path made by the moon across the
mystery of its waters.

"I love to see the shine upon the river
like that," said the Imp dreamily; "Auntie
Lisbeth says it's the path that the Moon-fairies
come down by to bring you nice dreams when
you've been good.  I've got out of bed lots of
times an' watched an' watched, but I've never
seen them come.  Do you think there are fairies
in the moon, Uncle Dick?"

"Undoubtedly," I answered; "how else
does it keep so bright?  I used to wonder once
how they managed to make it shine so."

"It must need lots of rubbing!" said the
Imp; "I wonder if they ever get tired?"

"Of course they do, Imp, and disheartened,
too, sometimes, like the rest of us, and then
everything is black, and people wonder where
the moon is.  But they are very brave, these
Moon-fairies, and they never quite lose hope,
you know; so they presently go back to their
rubbing and polishing, always starting at one
edge.  And in a little while we see it begin to
shine again, very small and thin at first, like
a----"

"Thumb-nail!"

"Yes, just like a thumb-nail; and so they
go on working and working at it until it gets as
big and round and bright as it is to-night."

Thus we walked together through a fairy
world, the Imp and I, while above the murmur
of the waters, above the sighing of the trees,
came the soft tremulous melody of the violins.

"I do wish I had lived when there were
knights like Ivanhoe," burst out the Imp
suddenly; "it must have been fine to knock a
man off his horse with your lance."

"Always supposing he didn't knock you off
first, Imp."

"Oh!  I should have been the sort of knight
that nobody could knock off, you know.  An'
I'd have wandered about on my faithful charger,
fighting all sorts of caddish barons and caitiffs,
an' slaying giants; an' I'd have rescued lovely
ladies from castles grim--though I wouldn't
have put my arm round them, of course!

"Perish the thought, my Imp!"

"Uncle Dick!" he said insinuatingly, "I
do wish you'd be the Black Knight, an' let me
be Ivanhoe."

"But there are no caitiffs and things left
for us to fight, Imp, and no lovely ladies to
rescue from castles grim, alas!"

Now we had been walking on, drawn almost
imperceptibly by the magic thread of the
melody, which had led us, by devious paths, to
a low stone wall, beyond which we could see
the gleam of lighted windows and the twinkle
of fairy lamps among the trees.  And over
there, amid the music and laughter, was
Lisbeth in all the glory of her beauty, happy,
of course, and light-hearted; and here, beneath
the moon, was I.

"We could pretend this was a castle grim,
you know, Uncle Dick, full of dungeons an'
turrets, an' that we were going to rescue Auntie
Lisbeth."

"Imp," I said, "that's really a great idea."

"I wish I'd brought my trusty sword," he
sighed, searching about for something to supply
its place; "I left it under my pillow, you
know."  Very soon, however, he had procured
two sticks, somewhat thin and wobbly, yet
which, by the magic of imagination, became
transformed into formidable two-edged swords,
with one of which he armed me, the other he
flourished above his head.

"Forward, gallant knights!" he cried; "the
breach! the breach!  On! on!  St. George
for Merrie England!"  With the words he
clambered upon the wall and disappeared upon
the other side.

For a moment I hesitated, and then, inspired
by the music and the thought of Lisbeth, I
followed suit.  It was all very mad, of course,
but who cared for sanity on such a night--certainly
not I.

"Careful now, Imp!" I cautioned; "if anyone
should see us they'll take us for thieves, or
lunatics, beyond a doubt."

We found ourselves in an enclosed garden
with a walk which led between rows of fruit
trees.  Following this, it brought us out upon a
broad stretch of lawn, with here and there a
great tree, and beyond, the gleaming windows of
the house.  Filled with the spirit of adventure,
we approached, keeping in the shadow as much
as possible, until we could see figures that
strolled to and fro upon the terrace or
promenaded the walks below.

The excitement of dodging our way among so
many people was intense; time and again we
were only saved from detection by more than one
wandering couple, owing to the fact that all
their attention was centred in themselves.  For
instance, we were skirmishing round a clump of
laurels, to gain the shadow of the terrace, when
we almost ran into the arms of a pair; but they
didn't see us, for the very good reason that she
was staring at the moon, and he at her.

"So sweet of you, Archibald!" she was saying.

"What did she call him 'bald for, Uncle Dick?"
inquired the Imp in a loud stage-whisper, as I
dragged him down behind the laurels.  "He's
not a bit bald, you know!  An' I say, Uncle
Dick, did you see his arm?  It was round----"

"Yes--yes!" I nodded.

"Just like Peter's, you know."

"Yes--yes, I saw."

"I wonder why she called him----"

"Hush!" I broke in, "his name is Archibald,
I suppose."

"Well, I hope when I grow up nobody will
ever call me----"

"Hush!" I said again, "not a word--there's
your Auntie Lisbeth!"  She was, indeed,
standing upon the terrace, within a yard
of our hiding-place, and beside her was Mr. Selwyn.

"Uncle Dick," whispered the irrepressible
Imp, "do you think if we watch long enough
that Mr. Selwyn will put his arm round----"

"Shut up!" I whispered savagely.

Lisbeth was clad in a long, trailing gown of
dove-coloured silk--one of those close-fitting
garments that make the uninitiated, such as
myself, wonder how they are ever got on.

Mr. Selwyn stood beside her with a plate of
ice-cream in his hand, which he handed to her,
and they sat down.  As I watched her and
noticed her weary, bored air, and how wistfully
she gazed up at the silver disc of the moon, I
experienced a feeling of decided satisfaction.

"Yes," said Lisbeth, toying absently with
the ice-cream, "he painted Dorothy's face with
stripes of red and green enamel, and goodness
only knows how we can ever get it all off!"

Mr. Selwyn was duly shocked, and murmured
something about the "efficacy of turpentine"
in such an emergency.

"Of course, I had to punish him," continued
Lisbeth, "so I sent him to bed immediately
after tea, and never went to say good-night, or
tuck him up as I usually do, and it has been
worrying me all the evening."

Mr. Selwyn was sure that he was all right,
and positively certain that at this moment he
was wrapped in balmy slumber.  Despite my
warning grasp, the Imp chuckled, but we were
saved by the band striking up.  Mr. Selwyn
rose, giving his arm to Lisbeth, and they
re-entered the ballroom.  One by one the other
couples followed suit until the long terrace
deserted.

Now, upon Lisbeth's deserted chair, showing
wonderfully pink in the soft glow of the Chinese
lanterns, was the ice-cream.

"Uncle Dick," said the Imp in his thoughtful
way, "I think I'll be a bandit for a bit."

"Anything you like," I answered rashly, "so
long as we get away while we can."

"All right," he whispered, "I won't be a
minute," and before I could stop him he had
scrambled down the steps and fallen to upon
the ice-cream.

The wonderful celerity with which the Imp
wolfed down that ice-cream was positively
awe-inspiring.  In less time almost than it takes to
tell, the plate was empty.  Yet scarcely had
he swallowed the last mouthful when he heard
Mr. Selwyn's voice close by.  In his haste the
Imp dropped his cap, a glaring affair of red and
white, and before he could recover it, Lisbeth
reappeared, followed by Mr. Selwyn.

"It certainly is more pleasant out here!" he
was saying.

Lisbeth came straight towards the cap--it
was a moral impossibility that she could fail to
see it--yet she sank into her chair without word
or sign.  Mr. Selwyn, on the contrary, stood
with the empty ice plate in his hand, staring
at it in wide-eyed astonishment.

"It's gone!" he exclaimed.

"Oh!" said Lisbeth.

"Most extraordinary!" said Mr. Selwyn,
fixing his monocle and staring harder than
ever; "I wonder where it can have got to?"

"Perhaps it melted!" Lisbeth suggested,
"and I should so have loved an ice!" she
sighed.

"Then, of course, I'll get you another, with
pleasure," he said, and hurried off, eyeing the
plate dubiously as he went.

No sooner was Lisbeth alone than she kicked
aside the train of her dress and picked up the
tell-tale cap.

"Imp!" she whispered, rising to her feet,
"Imp, come here at once, sir!"

There was a moment's breathless pause, and
then the Imp squirmed himself into view.

"Hallo, Auntie Lisbeth!" he said, with a
cheerfulness wholly assumed.

"Oh!" she cried distressfully, "whatever
does this mean; what are you doing here?
Oh, you naughty boy!"

"Lisbeth," I said, as I rose in my turn and
confronted her, "do not blame the child--the
fault is mine--let me explain; by means of a
ladder----"

"Not here," she whispered, glancing
nervously towards the ballroom.

"Then come where I can."

"Impossible!"

"Not at all; you have only to descend these
steps and we can talk undisturbed."

"Ridiculous!" she said, stooping to replace
the Imp's cap; but being thus temptingly
within reach, she was next moment beside us
in the shadows.

"Dick, how could you, how dared you?"

"You see, I had to explain," I answered very
humbly; "I really couldn't allow this poor
child to bear the blame of my fault----"

"I'm not a 'poor child,' Uncle Dick,"
expostulated the Imp; "I'm a gallant knight
and----"

"--The blame of my fault, Lisbeth," I
continued.  "I alone must face your just
resentment, for----"

"Hush!" she whispered, glancing hastily about.

"--For, by means of a ladder, Lisbeth, a
common or garden ladder----"

"Oh, do be quiet!" she said, and laid her
hand upon my lips, which I immediately
imprisoned there, but for a moment only; the
next it was snatched away as there came the
unmistakable sound of someone approaching.

"Come along, Auntie Lisbeth," whispered
the Imp; "fear not, we'll rescue you."

Oh! surely there was magic in the air
to-night; for, with a swift, dexterous movement,
Lisbeth had swept her long train across her arm,
and we were running hand in hand, all three
of us, running across lawns and down winding
paths between yew hedges, sometimes so close
together that I could feel a tress of her fragrant
hair brushing my face with a touch almost like
a caress.  Surely, surely, there was magic in the
air to-night!

Suddenly Lisbeth stopped, flushed and panting.

"Well!" she exclaimed, staring from me to
the Imp, and back again, "was ever anything
so mad!"

"Everything is mad to-night," I said; "it's
the moon!"

"To think of my running away like this
with two--two----"

"Interlopers," I suggested.

"I really ought to be very, very angry with
you--both of you," she said, trying to frown.

"No, don't be angry with us, Auntie Lisbeth,"
pleaded the Imp, "'cause you are a lovely lady
in a castle grim, an' we are two gallant knights,
so we had to come an' rescue you; an' you
never came to kiss me good-night, an' I'm
awfull' sorry 'bout painting Dorothy's face--really!"

"Imp," cried Lisbeth, falling on her knees,
regardless of her silks and laces, "Imp, come
and kiss me."  The Imp drew out a decidedly
grubby handkerchief, and, having rubbed his
lips with it, obeyed.

"Now, Uncle Dick!" he said, and offered
me the grubby handkerchief.  Lisbeth actually
blushed.

"Reginald!" she exclaimed, "whatever put
such an idea into your head?"

"Oh!  everybody's always kissing somebody,
you know," he nodded; "an' it's Uncle Dick's
turn now."

Lisbeth rose from her knees and began to
pat her rebellious hair into order.  Now, as she
raised her arms, her shawl very naturally
slipped to the ground; and standing there,
with her eyes laughing up at me beneath their
dark lashes, with the moonlight in her hair,
she had never seemed quite so bewilderingly
beautiful before.

"Dick," she said, "I must go back at
once--before they miss me."

"Go back!" I repeated; "never--that is,
not yet."

"But suppose anyone saw us!" she said,
with a hairpin in her mouth.

"They shan't," I answered; "you will see
to that, won't you, Imp?"

"'Course I will, Uncle Dick!"

"Then go you, Sir Knight, and keep faithful
ward behind yon apple-tree, and let no base
varlet hither come; that is, if you see anyone,
be sure to tell me."

The Imp saluted and promptly disappeared
behind the apple-tree in question, while I stood
watching Lisbeth's dexterous fingers and striving
to remember a line from Keats, descriptive
of a beautiful woman in the moonlight, before
I could call it to mind, however, Lisbeth
interrupted me.

"Don't you think you might pick up
my shawl instead of staring at me as if I
was----"

"The most beautiful woman in the world!"
I put in.

"Who is catching her death of cold," she
laughed, yet for all her light tone her eyes
drooped before mine as I obediently wrapped
the shawl about her, in the doing of which, my
arm being round her, very naturally stayed
there, and--wonder of wonders, was not
repulsed.  And at this very moment, from the
shadowy trees behind us, came the rich clear
song of a nightingale.

Oh, most certainly the air was full of magic
to-night!

"Dick," said Lisbeth very softly, as the
trilling notes died away, "I thought one could
only dream such a night as this is."

"And yet life might hold many such for
you and me, if you would only let it,
Lisbeth," I reminded her.  She did not answer.

"Not far from the village of Down, in Kent,"
I began.

"There stands a house," she put in, staring
up at the moon with dreamy eyes.

"Yes."

"A very old house, with twisted Tudor
chimneys and pointed gables--you see, I have
it all by heart, Dick--a house with wide stairways
and long panelled chambers----"

"Very empty and desolate at present," I
added.  "And, amongst other things, there
is a rose garden--they call it My Lady's
Garden, Lisbeth, though no lady has trod its
winding paths for years and years.  But I have
dreamed, many and many a time, that we stood
among the roses, she and I, upon just such
another night as this is.  So I keep the old
house ready and the gardens freshly trimmed,
ready for my lady's coming; must I wait much
longer, Lisbeth?"  As I ended the nightingale
took up the story, pleading my cause for me,
filling the air with a melody now appealing, now
commanding, until it gradually died away in
one long note of passionate entreaty.

Lisbeth sighed and turned towards me, but,
as she did so, I felt a tug at my coat, and,
looking round, beheld the Imp.

"Uncle Dick," he said, his eyes studiously
averted, doubtless on account of the position of
my arm, "here's Mr. Selwyn!"

With a sudden exclamation Lisbeth started
from me and gathered up her skirts to run.

"Where away, my Imp?"

"Coming across the lawn."

"Reginald," I said solemnly, "listen to me;
you must sally out upon him with lance in rest,
tell him you are a Knight-errant, wishful to
uphold the glory of that faire ladye, your
Auntie Lisbeth, and, whatever happens, you
must manage to keep him away from here.
Do you understand?"

"Yes; only I do wish I'd brought my trusty
sword, you know," he sighed.

"Never mind that now, Imp."

"Will Auntie Lisbeth be quite----"

"She will be all right."

"I suppose if you put your arm----"

"Never mind my arm, Imp, go!"

"Then fare thee well!" said he, and, with a
melodramatic flourish of his lance, trotted off.

"What did he mean about your arm, Dick?"

"Probably this," I answered, slipping it
around her again.

"But you must get away at once,"
whispered Lisbeth; "if Mr. Selwyn should see
you----"

"I intend that he shall.  Oh, it will be quite
simple; while he is talking to me you can get
back to the----"

"Hush!" she whispered, laying her fingers
on my lips; "listen!"

"Hallo, Mr. Selwyn!" came in the Imp's
familiar tones.

"Why, good gracious!" exclaimed another
voice, much too near to be pleasant, "what on
earth are you doing here--and at this time
of night?"

"Looking for base varlets!"

"Don't you know that all little boys--all
nice little boys--should have been in bed hours
ago?"

"But I'm not a nice little boy; I'm a Knight-errant;
would you like to get a lance, Mr. Selwyn,
an' break it with me to the glory of
my Auntie Lisbeth?"

"The question is, what has become of her?"
said Mr. Selwyn.  We waited almost
breathlessly for the answer.

"Oh!  I 'specks she's somewhere looking at
the moon; everybody looks at the moon, you
know; Betty does, an' the lady with the
man with a funny name 'bout being bald,
an'----"

"I think you had better come up to the
house," said Mr. Selwyn.

"Do you think you could get me an ice-cream
if I did?" asked the Imp persuasively;
"nice an' pink, you know, with----"

"An ice!" repeated Mr. Selwyn; "I
wonder how many you have had already to-night?"

The time for action was come.

"Lisbeth," I said, "we must go; such
happiness as this could not last; how should
it?  I think it is given us to dream over in less
happy days.  For me it will be a memory to
treasure always, and yet there might be one
thing more--a little thing, Lisbeth--can you
guess?"  She did not speak, but I saw the
dimple come and go at the corner of her mouth,
so I stooped and kissed her.  For a moment,
all too brief, we stood thus, with the glory of
the moonlight about us; then I was hurrying
across the lawn after Selwyn and the Imp.

"Ah, Mr. Selwyn!" I said as I overtook
them, "so you have found him, have
you?"  Mr. Selwyn turned to regard me, surprise writ
large upon him, from the points of his immaculate
patent-leather shoes to the parting of
his no less immaculate hair.

"So very good of you," I continued; "you
see he is such a difficult object to recover when
once he gets mislaid; really, I'm awfully
obliged."  Mr. Selwyn's attitude was politely
formal.  He bowed.

"What is it to-night?" he inquired.  "Pirates?

"Hardly so bad as that," I returned; "to-night
the air is full of the clash of armour and
the ring of steel; if you do not hear it, that is
not our fault."

"An' the woods are full of caddish barons
and caitiff knaves, you know, aren't they, Uncle
Dick?"

"Certainly," I nodded, "with lance and
spear-point twinkling through the gloom; but
in the silver glory of the moon, Mr. Selwyn, walk
errant damozels and ladyes faire, and again,
if you don't see them, the loss is yours."  As
I spoke, away upon the terrace a grey shadow
paused a moment ere it was swallowed in the
brilliance of the ballroom; seeing which I did
not mind the slightly superior smile that curved
Mr. Selwyn's very precise moustache; after
all, my rhapsody had not been altogether
thrown away.

As I ended, the opening bars of a waltz
floated out to us.  Mr. Selwyn glanced back
over his shoulder.

"Ah!  I suppose you can find your way out?"
he inquired.

"Oh yes, thanks."

"Then if you will excuse me, I think I'll
leave you to--ah--to do it; the next dance
is beginning, and--ah----"

"Certainly," I said, "of course--good-night,
and much obliged--really!"

Mr. Selwyn bowed, and, turning away, left
us to our own resources.

"I should have liked another ice, Uncle
Dick," sighed the Imp regretfully.

"Knights never ate ice-cream!" I said,
as we set off along the nearest path.

"Uncle Dick," said the Imp suddenly, "do
you s'pose Mr. Selwyn wants to put his arm
round Auntie Lis----"

"Possibly!"

"An' do you s'pose that Auntie Lisbeth wants
Mr. Selwyn to----"

"I don't know--of course not--er--kindly
shut up, will you, Imp?"

"I only wanted to know, you know," he
murmured.

Therewith we walked on in silence, and I
fell to dreaming of Lisbeth again, of how she
had sighed, of the look in her eyes as she turned
to me with her answer trembling on her lips--the
answer which the Imp had inadvertently
cut short.

In this frame of mind I drew near to that
corner of the garden where she had stood with
me, that quiet shady corner which henceforth
would remain enshrined within my memory for
her sake, which----

I stopped suddenly short at the sight of two
figures--one in the cap and apron of a waiting-maid
and the other in the gorgeous plush and
gold braid of a footman; and they were
standing upon the very spot where Lisbeth and I
had stood, and in almost the exact attitude--it
was desecration.

I stood stock-still despite the Imp's frantic
tugs at my coat, all other feelings swallowed
up in one of half-amused resentment.  Then
the resplendent footman happened to turn
his head, presently espied me, and removing
his plush-clad arm from the waist of the trim
maid-servant, and doubling his fists, strode
towards us with a truly terrible mien.

"And w'ot might your game be?" he inquired,
with that supercilious air inseparable
from plush and gold braid.  "Oh, I know your
kind, I do--I know yer!"

"Then, fellow," quoth I, "I know not thee."

"Don't get trying to come over me," said he
indignantly.  "The question is, w'ot are you
'anging round 'ere for?"

Now, possibly deceived by my pacific
attitude, or inspired by the bright eyes of the
trim maid-servant, he seized me, none too
gently, by the collar, to the horrified dismay
of the Imp.

"Nay, but I will give thee monies----"

"You are a-going to come up to the 'ouse
with me, and none of your nonsense, either;
d'ye 'ear?"

"Then must I needs smite thee for a
barbarous dog--hence--base slave--begone!"

Wherewith I delivered what is technically
known in "sporting" circles as a "right hook to
the ear," followed by a "left swing to the
chin," and my assailant immediately
disappeared behind a bush, with a flash of pink
silk calves and buckled shoes.  Then, while the
trim maid-servant filled the air with her
lamentations, the Imp and I ran hot-foot for
the wall, over which I bundled him neck and
crop, and we set off pell-mell along the river-path.

"Oh, Uncle Dick," he panted, "how--how
fine you are!  You knocked yon footman--I
mean varlet--from his saddle like--like
anything.  Oh, I do wish you would play like this
every night!"

"Heaven forbid!" I exclaimed fervently.

Coming at last to the Shrubbery gate, we
paused awhile to regain our breath.

"Uncle Dick," said the Imp, regarding me
with a thoughtful eye, "did you see his
arm--I mean before you smote him 'hip and
thigh'?"

"I did."

"It was round her waist."

"Imp, it was."

"Just like Peter's?"

"Yes."

"An' the man with the funny name?"

"Archibald's, yes."

"An'--an'----"

"And mine," I put in, seeing he paused.

"Uncle Dick--why?"

"Ah! who knows, Imp--perhaps it was
the Moon-magic.  And now, by my troth! 'tis
full time all good knights were snoring, so hey
for bed and the Slumber-world!"

The ladder was dragged from its hiding-place,
and the Imp, having mounted, watched me from
his window as I returned it to the laurels for
very obvious reasons.

"We didn't see any fairies, did we, Uncle Dick?"

"Well, I think I did, Imp, just for a moment;
I may have been mistaken, of course; but
anyhow, it has been a very wonderful night
all the same.  And so--fare thee well, fair Knight!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE EPISODE OF THE INDIAN'S AUNT`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER V


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE EPISODE OF THE INDIAN'S AUNT

.. vspace:: 2

The sun blazed down, as any truly self-respecting
sun should, on a fine August afternoon; yet
its heat was tempered by a soft, cool breeze
that just stirred the leaves above my head.

The river was busy whispering many things
to the reeds, things which, had I been wise
enough to understand, might have helped me
to write many wonderful books, for, as it is
so very old, and has both seen and heard so
much, it is naturally very wise.  But alas! being
ignorant of the language of rivers, I had
to content myself with my own dreams, and the
large, speckled frog that sat beside me, watching
the flow of the river with his big, gold-rimmed
eyes.

He was happy enough, I was sure.  There
was a complacent satisfaction in every line of
his fat mottled body.  And as I watched him
my mind very naturally reverted to the
*Pickwick Papers*, and I repeated Mrs. Leo Hunter's
deathless ode, beginning:

   |  "Can I see thee panting, dying,
   |  On a log,
   |  Expiring frog!"
   |

The big, green frog beside me listened with
polite attention, but, on the whole, seemed
strangely unmoved.  Remembering the book
in my pocket, I took it out; an old book, with
battered leathern covers, which has passed
through many hands since it was first published,
more than two hundred years ago.

Indeed it is a wonderful, a most delightful
book, known to the world as *The Compleat
Angler*, in which, to be sure, one may read
something of fish and fishing, but more about
old Izaak's lovable self, his sunny streams
and shady pools, his buxom milkmaids, and
sequestered inns, and his kindly animadversions
upon men and things in general.  Yet, as I
say, he does occasionally speak of fish and
fishing, and amongst other matters, concerning
live frogs as bait, after describing the properest
method of impaling one upon the hook, he ends
with this injunction--

"Treat it as though you loved it, that it
may live the longer!"

Up till now the frog had preserved his polite
attentiveness in a manner highly creditable
to his upbringing, but this proved too much;
his overcharged feelings burst from him in a
hoarse croak, and he disappeared into the river
with a splash.

"Good afternoon, Uncle Dick!" said a voice
at my elbow, and looking round, I beheld
Dorothy.  Beneath one arm she carried the
fluffy kitten, and in the other hand a scrap of
paper.

"I promised Reginald to give you this," she
continued, "and--oh yes--I was to say 'Hist!'
first."

"Really!  And why were you to say 'Hist'?"

"Oh, because all Indians always say 'Hist!'
you know."

"To be sure they do," I answered; "but
am I to understand that you are an Indian?"

"Not to-day," replied Dorothy, shaking her
head.  "Last time Reginald painted me Auntie
was awfull' angry--it took her and nurse ages
to get it all off--the war-paint, I mean--so
I'm afraid I can't be an Indian again!"

"That's very unfortunate!" I said.

"Yes, isn't it; but nobody can be an
Indian chief without any war-paint, can
they?"

"Certainly not," I answered.  "You seem
to know a great deal about it."

"Oh yes," nodded Dorothy.  "Reginald has
a book all about Indians and full of pictures--and
here's the letter," she ended, and slipped
it into my hand.

Smoothing out its many folds and creases,
I read aloud, as follows:

.. vspace:: 2

"*To my pail-face brother:*

.. vspace:: 1

"'Ere another moon, Spotted Snaik will be
upon the war-path, and red goar shall flo in
buckkit-fulls."

.. vspace:: 2

"It sounds dreadful, doesn't it?" said
Dorothy, hugging her kitten.

"Horrible!" I returned.

"He got it out of the book, you know," she
went on, "but I put in the part about the
buckets--a bucket holds such an awful lot,
don't you think?  But there's some more on
the other page."  Obediently I turned, and
read:

.. vspace:: 2

"'ere another moon, scalps shall dangel at
belt of Spotted Snaik, for in his futsteps lurks
distruksion.  But fear not pail-face, thou art
my brother--fairwell.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   "Sined
       "SPOTTED SNAIK."

.. vspace:: 2

"There was lots more, but we couldn't get
it in," said Dorothy.  Squeezed up into a
corner I found this postscript;

.. vspace:: 2

"If you will come and be an Indian Cheef
unkel dick, I will make you a spear, and you
can be Fanged Wolf.  He was a fine chap and
nobody could beat him except Spotted Snaik,
will you Unkel dick?"

.. vspace:: 2

"He wants you to write an answer, and I'm
to take it to him," said Dorothy.

"Fanged Wolf!" I repeated; "no, I'm
afraid not.  I shouldn't object so much to
becoming a red-skin--for a time--but Fanged
Wolf!  Really, Dorothy, I'm afraid I couldn't
manage that."

"He was very brave," returned Dorothy,
"and awfull' strong, and could--could 'throw
his lance with such unerring aim as to pin his
foe to the nearest tree--in the twinkle of an
eye.'  That's in the book, you know."

"There certainly must be a great deal of
satisfaction in pinning one's foe to a tree," I
nodded.

"Y-e-e-s, I suppose so," said Dorothy rather
dubiously.

"And where is Spotted Snake--I mean, what
is he doing?"

"Oh, he's down by the river, with his bow
and arrow, scouting for canoes.  It was great
fun!  He shot at a man in a boat--and nearly
hit him, and the man got very angry indeed, so
we had to hide among the bushes, just like real
Indians.  Oh, it was fine!"

"But your Auntie Lisbeth said you weren't
to play near the river, you know," I said.

"That's what I told him," returned Dorothy,
"but he said that Indians didn't have any
aunts, and then I didn't know what to say.
What do you think about it, Uncle Dick?"

"Well," I answered, "now I come to consider,
I can't remember ever having heard of an
Indian's aunt."

"Poor things!" said Dorothy, giving the
fluffy kitten a kiss between the ears.

"Yes, it's hard on them, perhaps, and yet,"
I added thoughtfully, "an aunt is sometimes
rather a mixed blessing.  Still, whether an
Indian possesses an aunt or not, the fact remains
that water has an unpleasant habit of wetting
one, and, on the whole, I think I'll go and see
what Spotted Snake is up to."

"Then I think I'll come with you a little way,"
said Dorothy, as I rose.  "You see, I have to
get Louise her afternoon's milk."

"And how is Louise?" I inquired, pulling
the fluffy kitten's nearest ear.

"Very well, thank you," answered Dorothy
demurely; "but oh, dear me! kittens 'are
such a constant source of worry and anxiety'!
Auntie Lisbeth sometimes says that about
Reginald and me.  I wonder what she would
say if we were kittens!"

"By the by, where is your Auntie Lisbeth?"
I asked, in a strictly conversational tone.

"Well, she's lying in the old boat."

"In the old boat!" I repeated.

"Yes," nodded Dorothy; "when it's nice
and warm and sleepy, like to-day, she takes a
book, and a pillow, and a sunshade, and she
goes and lies in the old boat under the
water-stairs.  There, just look at this naughty
Louise!" she broke off, as the kitten scrambled
up to her shoulder and stood there, balancing
itself very dexterously with curious angular
movements of its tail; "that's because she
thinks I've forgotten her milk, you know; she's
dreadfully impatient, but I suppose I must
humour her this once.  'Good afternoon!'"  And,
having given me her hand in her demure
old-fashioned way, Dorothy hurried off, the
kitten still perched upon her shoulder, its tail
jerking spasmodically with her every step.

In a little while I came in view of the
Water-stairs, yet, although I paused more than once
to look about me, I saw no sign of the Imp.
Thinking he was most probably in "ambush"
somewhere, I continued my way, whistling a
tune to attract his notice.  Ten minutes or
more elapsed, however, without any sign of him,
and I was already close to the stairs, when I
stopped whistling all at once, and, holding my
breath, crept forward on tiptoe.

There before me was the old boat, and in it--her
cheek upon a crimson cushion and the sun
making a glory of her tumbled hair--was
Lisbeth--asleep.

Being come as near as I dared for fear of
waking her, I sat down, and lighting my pipe,
fell to watching her--the up-curving shadow
of her lashes, the gleam of teeth between the
scarlet of her parted lips.  And from the heavy
braids of her hair my glance wandered down
to the little tan shoe peeping at me beneath
her skirt, and I called to mind how Goethe has
said:

"A pretty foot is not only a continual joy,
but it is the one element of beauty that defies
the assaults of Time."

Sometimes a butterfly hovered past, a bee
filled the air with his drone, or a bird settled
for a moment upon the stairs near by to preen
a ruffled feather, while soft and drowsy with
distance came the ceaseless roar of the weir.

I do not know how long I had sat thus,
supremely content, when I was suddenly aroused
by a rustling close at hand.

"Hist!"

I looked up sharply, and beheld a head, a
head adorned with sundry feathers, and a face
hideously streaked with red and green paint;
but there was no mistaking those golden
curls--it was the Imp!

"Hist!" he repeated, bringing out the word
with a prolonged hiss, and then--before I could
even guess at his intention--there was the swift
gleam of a knife, a splash of the severed painter,
and caught by the tide the old boat swung out
and was adrift.

The Imp stood gazing on his handiwork with
wide eyes, and then as I leaped to my feet
something in my look seemed to frighten him, for
without a word he turned and fled.

But all my attention was centred in the boat,
which was drifting slowly into mid-stream with
Lisbeth still fast asleep.  And as I watched its
sluggish progress, with a sudden chill I
remembered the weir, which foamed and roared only
a short half-mile away.  If the boat once got
drawn into that----!

Now, I am quite aware that under these
circumstances the right and proper thing for
me to have done, would have been to throw
aside my coat, tear off my boots, etc., and
"boldly breast the foamy flood."  But I did
neither, for the simple reason that once within
the "foamy flood" aforesaid, there would have
been very little chance of my ever getting out
again, for--let me confess the fact with the
blush of shame--I am no swimmer.

Yet I was not idle, far otherwise.  Having
judged the distance between the drifting boat
and the bank, I began running along, seeking
the thing I wanted.  And presently, sure enough,
I found it--a great pollard oak, growing upon
the edge of the water, that identical tree with
the "stickie-out" branches which has already
figured in these narratives.

Hastily swinging myself up, I got astride the
lowest branch, which projected out over the
water.  I had distanced the boat by some
hundred yards, and as I sat there I watched
its drift, one minute full of hope, and the next
as miserably uncertain.

My obvious intention was to crawl out upon
the branch until it bent with my weight, and
so let myself into, or as near the boat as
possible.

It was close now, so close that I could see
the gleam of Lisbeth's hair and the point of
the little tan shoe.  With my eyes on this, I
writhed my way along the bough, which bent
more and more as I neared the end.  Here I
hung, swaying up and down and to and fro
in a highly unpleasant manner, while I waited
the crucial moment.

Never upon this whole round earth did
anything creep as that boat did.  There was a
majestic deliberation in its progress that
positively maddened me.  I remember to have
once read an article somewhere upon the
"Sensibility of Material Things," or something
of the sort, which I had forgotten long since, but
as I hung there suspended between heaven and
earth, it came back to me with a rush, and
I was perfectly certain that, recognising my
precarious position, that time-worn, ancient
boat checked its speed on purpose.

But all things have an end, and so, little by
little the blunt bow crept nearer until it was
in the very shade of my tree.  Grasping the
branch, I let myself swing at arm's length; and
then I found that I was at least a foot too near
the bank.  Edging my way, therefore, still
further along the branch, I kicked out in a
desperate endeavour to reach the boat, and, the
bough swaying with me, caught my toe inside
the gunwale, drew it under me, and loosing
my grasp, was sprawling upon my hands and
knees, but safe aboard.

To pick myself up was the work of a moment,
yet scarcely had I done so, when Lisbeth opened
her eyes, and sitting up, stared about her.

"Why--where am I?" she exclaimed.

"On the river," I answered cheerfully.
"Glorious afternoon, Lisbeth, isn't it?"

"How--in--the--world did you get here?"
she inquired.

"Well," I answered, "I might say I dropped
in, as it were."

Lisbeth brushed the hair from her temples,
and turned to me with an imperious gesture.

"Then please take me back at once," she said.

"I would with pleasure," I returned, "only
that you forgot to bring the oars."

"Why, then, we are adrift!" she said, staring
at me with frightened eyes, and clasping her
hands nervously.

"We are," I nodded; "but, then, it's perfect
weather for boating, Lisbeth!" and I began to
look about for something that might serve as a
paddle.  But the stretchers had disappeared
long since--the old tub was a sheer hulk, so to
speak.  An attempt to tear up a floor board
resulted only in a broken nail and bleeding
fingers; so I presently desisted, and, rolling
up my sleeves, endeavoured to paddle with my
hands; but, finding this equally futile, I
resumed my coat, and took out pipe and
tobacco.

"Oh, Dick, is there nothing you can do?"
she asked, with a brave attempt to steady the
quiver in her voice.

"With your permission, I'll smoke, Lisbeth."

"But the weir!" she cried.  "Have you
forgotten the weir?"

"No," I answered, shaking my head; "it
has a way of obtruding itself on one's notice----"

"Oh, it sounds hateful--hateful!" she said
with a shiver.

"Like a strong wind among trees!"  I nodded,
as I filled my pipe.  We were approaching
a part of the river where it makes a sharp
bend to the right; and well I knew what lay
beyond--the row of posts, painted white, with
the foam and bubble of seething water below.
We should round that bend in about ten
minutes, I judged; long before then we might
see a boat, to be sure; if not--well, if the worst
happened, I could but do my best; in the
meantime I would smoke a pipe; but I will
admit my fingers trembled as I struck a match.

"It sounds horribly close!" said Lisbeth.

"Sound is very deceptive, you know," I
answered.

"Only last month a boat went over, and the
man was drowned!" shuddered Lisbeth.

"Poor chap!" I said.  "Of course it's
different at night--the river is awfully deserted
then, you know, and----"

"But it happened in broad daylight!"
said Lisbeth, almost in a whisper.  She was
sitting half turned from me, her gaze fixed on
the bend of the river, and by chance her restless
hand had found and begun to fumble with the
severed painter.

So we drifted on, watching the gliding banks,
while every moment the roar of the weir grew
louder and more threatening.

"Dick," she said suddenly, "we can never
pass that awful place without oars!" and she
began to tie knots in the rope with fingers that
shook pitifully.

"Oh, I don't know!" I returned, with an
assumption of ease I was very far from feeling;
"and then, of course, we are bound to meet
a boat or something----"

"But suppose we don't?"

"Oh, well, we aren't there yet--and--er--let's
talk of fish."

"Ah, Dick," she cried, "how can you treat
the matter so lightly when we may be tossing
down there in that awful water so very soon?
We can never pass that weir without oars, and
you know it, and--and--oh, Dick, why did you
do it--how could you have been so mad?"

"Do what?" I inquired, staring.

With a sudden gesture she rose to her knees
and fronted me.

"This!" she cried, and held up the severed
painter.  "It has been cut!  Oh, Dick, Dick,
how could you be so mad?"

"Lisbeth!" I exclaimed, "do you mean to
say that you think----"

"I know!" she broke in, and turning away,
hid her face in her hands.

We were not so very far from the bend now,
and seeing this, a sudden inspiration came upon
me, by means of which I might prove her mind
towards me once and for all; and as she kneeled
before me with averted face, I leaned forward
and took her hands in mine.

"Lisbeth," I said, "supposing I did cut
the boat adrift, like a--a fool--endangering
your life for a mad, thoughtless whim--could
you forgive me?"

For a long moment she remained without
answering, then very slowly she raised her head.

"Oh, Dick!" was all she said, but in her eyes
I read the wonder of wonders.

"But, Lisbeth," I stammered, "could you
still love me--even--even if, through my folly,
the worst should happen and we--we----"

"I don't think I shall be so very much
afraid, Dick, if you will hold me close like this,"
she whispered.

The voice of the weir had swelled into a
roar by now, yet I paid little heed; for me, all
fear was swallowed up in a great wondering
happiness.

"Dick," she whispered, "you will hold
me tight, you will not let me go when--when----"

"Never," I answered; "nothing could ever
take you from me now."

As I spoke I raised my eyes, and glancing
about beheld something which altered the whole
aspect of affairs--something which changed
tragedy into comedy all in a moment--a boat
was coming slowly round the bend.

"Lisbeth, look up!"  With a sigh she
obeyed, her clasp tightening on mine, and a
dreadful expectation in her eyes.  Then all at
once it was gone, her pale cheeks grew suddenly
scarlet, and she slipped from my arms; and
thereafter I noticed how very carefully her
eyes avoided mine.

The boat came slowly into view, impelled
by one who rowed with exactly that amount of
splashing which speaks the true-born Cockney.
By dint of much exertion and more splashing
he presently ranged alongside in answer to
my hail.

"W'ot--a haccident then?" he inquired.

"Something of the sort," I nodded.  "Will
you be so kind as to tow us to the bank
yonder?"

"Hanythink to hoblige!" he grinned, and
having made fast the painter, proceeded to
splash us to *terra firma*.  Which done, he
grinned again, waved his hat, and splashed upon
his way.  I made the boat secure and turned
to Lisbeth.  She was staring away towards the
weir.

"Lisbeth," I began.

"I thought just now that--that it was the
end!" she said, and shivered.

"And at such times," I added, "one
sometimes says things one would not have said
under ordinary circumstances.  My dear, I
quite understand--quite, and I'll try to
forget--you needn't fear."

"Do you think you can?" she asked, turning
to look at me.

"I can but try," I answered.  Now, as I
spoke, I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw the
pale ghost of the dimple by her mouth.

We walked back side by side along the river-path,
very silently for the most part, yet more
than once I caught her regarding me covertly,
and with a puzzled air.

"Well?" I said at last tentatively.

"I was wondering why you did it, Dick.
Oh, it was mean! cruel! wicked!  How could you?"

"Oh, well"--and I shrugged my shoulders,
anathematising the Imp mentally the while.

"If I hadn't noticed that the rope was
freshly cut, I should have thought it an
accident," she went on.

"Naturally!" I said.

"And then, again, how came you in the boat?"

"To be sure!" I nodded.

"Still, I can scarcely believe that you
would wilfully jeopardise both our lives--my
life!"

"A man who would do such a thing," I
exclaimed, carried away by the heat of the
moment, "would be a--a----"

"Yes," said Lisbeth quickly, "he would."

"--And utterly beyond the pale of all
forgiveness!"

"Yes," said Lisbeth, "of course."

"And," I was beginning again, but meeting
her searching glance, stopped.  "And you
forgave me, Lisbeth," I ended.

"Did I?" she said, with raised brows.

"Didn't you?"

"Not that I remember."

"In the boat?"

"I never *said* so."

"Not in words, perhaps, but you implied as
much."  Lisbeth had the grace to blush.

"Do I understand that I am not forgiven
after all?"

"Not until I know why you did such a mad,
thoughtless trick," she answered, with that
determined set of her chin which I knew so well.

That I should thus shoulder the responsibility
for the Imp's misdeeds was ridiculous, and
wrong as it was unjust, for if ever boy deserved
punishment, that boy was the Imp.  And
yet, probably because he was the Imp, or
because of that schoolboy honour which
forbids "sneaking," and which I carried with
me still, I held my peace; seeing which, Lisbeth
turned and left me.

I stood where I was, with head bent in an
attitude suggestive of innocence, broken hopes,
and gentle resignation, but in vain; she never
once looked back.  Still, martyr though I was,
the knowledge that I had immolated myself
upon the altar of friendship filled me with a
sense of conscious virtue that I found not
ill-pleasing.  Howbeit, seeing I am but human
after all, I sat down, and refilling my pipe, fell
once more anathematising the Imp.

"Hist!"

A small shape flittered from behind an
adjacent tree, and lo! the subject of my
thoughts stood before me.

"Imp," I said, "come here."  He obeyed
readily.  "When you cut that rope and set
your Auntie Lisbeth adrift, you didn't remember
the man who was drowned in the weir last month,
did you?"

"No!" he answered, staring.

"Of course not," I nodded; "but all the
same it is not your fault that your Auntie
Lisbeth is not drowned--just as he was."

"Oh!" exclaimed the Imp, and his beloved
bow slipped from his nerveless fingers.

"Imp," I went on, "it was a wicked thing to
cut that rope, a mean, cruel trick.  Don't you
think so?"

"I 'specks it was, Uncle Dick."

"Don't you think you ought to be punished?"  He
nodded.  "Very well," I answered, "I'll
punish you myself.  Go and cut me a nice,
straight switch," and I handed him my open
penknife.  Round-eyed, the Imp obeyed, and
for a space there was a prodigious cracking
and snapping of sticks.  In a little while he
returned with three, also the blade of my
knife was broken, for which he was profusely
apologetic.

"Now," I said, as I selected the weapon
fittest for the purpose, "I am going to strike
you hard on either hand with this stick--that
is, if you think you deserve it."

"Was Auntie Lisbeth nearly drowned--really?"
he inquired.

"Very nearly, and was only saved by a chance."

"All right, Uncle Dick, hit me," he said, and
held out his hand.  The stick whizzed and
fell--once--twice.  I saw his face grow scarlet and
the tears leap to his eyes, but he uttered no
sound.

"Did it hurt very much, my Imp?" I
inquired, as I tossed the stick aside.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak,
while I turned to light my pipe, wasting three
matches quite fruitlessly.

"Uncle Dick," he burst out at last, struggling
manfully against his sobs, "I--I'm
awfull'--sorry----"

"Oh, it's all right now, Imp.  Shake hands!"  Joyfully
the little, grimy fingers clasped mine,
and from that moment, I think, there grew
up between us a new understanding.

"Why, Imp, my darling, you're crying!"
exclaimed a voice, and, with a rustle of
skirts, Lisbeth was down before him on her
knees.

"I know I am--'cause I'm awfull' sorry--an'
Uncle Dick's whipped my hands--an' I'm
glad!"

"Whipped your hands?" cried Lisbeth,
clasping him closer, and glaring at me
"Whipped your hands?  How dare he?
What for?"

"'Cause I cut the rope an' let the boat go
away with you an' you might have been
drowned dead in the weir, an' I'm awfull glad
Uncle Dick whipped me!"

"O-h-h!" exclaimed Lisbeth, and it was
a very long-drawn "oh!" indeed.

"I don't know what made me do it," continued
the Imp.  "I 'specks it was my new knife--it
was so nice an' sharp, you know."

"Well, it's all right now, my Imp," I said,
fumbling for a match in a singularly clumsy
manner.  "If you ask me, I think we are all
better friends than ever--or should be.  I
know I should be fonder of your Auntie Lisbeth
even than before, and take greater care of her,
if I were you.  And--and now take her in to
tea, my Imp, and--and see that she has plenty
to eat," and, lifting my hat, I turned away.  But
Lisbeth was beside me, and her hand was on my
arm before I had gone a yard.

"We are having tea in the same old place--under
the trees.  If you would care to--to--would you?"

"Yes, do--oh, do, Uncle Dick!" cried the
Imp.  "I'll go and tell Jane to set a place for
you," and he bounded off.

"I didn't hit him very hard," I said, breaking
a somewhat awkward silence; "but, you see,
there are some things a gentleman cannot do.
I think he understands now."

"Oh, Dick!" she said very softly; "and
to think I could imagine you had done such a
thing--you! and to think that you should let
me think you had done such a thing--and all
to shield that Imp!  Oh, Dick! no wonder
he is so fond of you.  He never talks of
anyone but you--I grow quite jealous sometimes.
But, Dick, how did *you* get into that boat?"

"By means of a tree with 'stickie-out'
branches."

"Do you mean to say----"

"That, as I told you before, I dropped in,
as it were."

"But supposing you had slipped?"

"But I didn't."

"And you can't swim a stroke!"

"Not that I know of."

"Oh, Dick! can you ever forgive me?"

"On three conditions."

"Well?"

"First, that you let me remember everything
you said to me while we were drifting
down to the weir."

"That depends, Dick.  And the second?"

"The second lies in the fact that not far
from the village of Down, in Kent, there
stands an old house--a quaint old place
that is badly in want of someone to live in
it--an old house that is lonely for a woman's
sweet presence and gentle, busy hands, Lisbeth!"

"And the third?" she asked very softly.

"Surely you can guess that?"

"No, I can't, and, besides, there's Dorothy
coming--and--oh, Dick!"

"Why, Auntie," exclaimed Dorothy, as she
came up, "how red you are!  I knew you'd
get sunburned, lying in that old boat without
a parasol!  But, then, she will do it, Uncle
Dick--oh, she will do it!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE OUTLAW`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VI


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE OUTLAW

.. vspace:: 2

Everybody knew old Jasper Trent, the Crimean
veteran who had helped to beat the "Roosians
and the Proosians," and who, so it was rumoured,
had more wounds upon his worn, bent body
than there were months in the year.

The whole village was proud of old Jasper,
proud of his age, proud of his wounds, and
proud of the medals that shone resplendent
upon his shrunken breast.

Any day he might have been seen hobbling
along by the river, or pottering among the
flowers in his little garden, but oftener still
sitting on the bench in the sunshine beside the
door of the Three Jolly Anglers.

Indeed, they made a fitting pair, the worn
old soldier and the ancient inn, alike both long
behind the times, dreaming of the past, rather
than the future, which seemed to me like an
invisible bond between them.  Thus, when
old Jasper fell ill, and, taking to his bed, had
it moved opposite the window where he could
lie with his eyes upon the battered gables of
the inn--I for one could understand the reason.

The Three Jolly Anglers is indeed ancient,
its early records long since lost beneath the
dust of centuries; yet the years have but
served to mellow it.  Men have lived and died,
nations have waxed and waned, still it stands,
all unchanged beside the river, watching the
Great Tragedy which we call "Life" with
that same look of supreme wisdom, that
half-waggish, half-kindly air, which I have already
mentioned once before.

Those Sons of the Soil, who meet regularly
within its walls, are horny-handed, and for the
most part grey of head and bent with
over-much following of the plough.  Quiet of voice
are they, and profoundly sedate of gesture,
while upon their wrinkled brows there sits that
spirit of calm content which it is given so few
of us to know.

Chief among these, and held in much respect,
was old Jasper Trent.  Within their circle he
had been wont to sit ensconced in his elbow-chair
beside the hearth, by his long use and
custom, and not to be usurped; and while the
smoke rose slowly from their pipe-bowls he
would recount some tale of battle and sudden
death--now in the freezing trenches before
Sebastopol, now upon the blood-stained heights
of Inkermann.  Yet, and I noticed it was always
towards the end of his second tankard, the old
man would lose the thread of his story, whatever
it might be, and take up the topic of "The
Bye Jarge."

I was at first naturally perplexed as to
whom he could mean, until Mr. Amos Baggett,
the landlord, informed me on the quiet that the
"bye Jarge" was none other than old Jasper's
only son--a man now some forty years of
age--who, though promising well in his youth,
had "gone wrong"--and was at that moment
serving a long term of imprisonment for burglary;
further, that upon the day of his son's
conviction old Jasper had had a "stroke," and was
never quite the same after, all recollection of
the event being completely blotted from his
mind, so that he persisted in thinking and
speaking of his son as still a boy.

"That bye were a wonder!" he would say,
looking round with a kindling eye.  "Went
away to make 'is fortun', 'e did.  Oh, 'e were a
gen'us, were that bye Jarge!  You, Amos
Baggett, were 'e a gen'us or were 'e not?"

"'E were!" Mr. Baggett would answer, with
a slow nod.

"Look'ee, sir, do'ee see that theer clock?"--and
he would point with a bony, tremulous
finger--"stopped it were--got sum'mat wrong
wi' its inn'ards--wouldn't stir a finger--dead it
were!  But that bye Jarge 'e see it, 'e did--give
it a look over, 'e did, an' wi' nout but 'is
two 'ands set it a-goin' good as ever!  You,
Silas Madden, you remember as 'e done it wi'
'is two 'ands?"

"'Is two 'ands!" Silas would repeat solemnly.

"An' it's gone ever since!" old Jasper would
croak triumphantly.  "Oh! 'e were a gen'us,
were my bye Jarge.  'E'll come a-marchin'
back to 'is old feyther, some day, wi' 'is pockets
stuffed full o' money an' banknotes--I
knaw--I knaw, old Jasper bean't a fule."

And herewith, lifting up his old, cracked
voice, he would strike up "The British
Grenadiers," in which the rest would presently join
full lustily, waving their long-stemmed pipes
in unison.

So the old fellow would sit, singing the praises
of his scapegrace son, while his hearers would
nod solemn heads, fostering old Jasper's innocent
delusion for the sake of his white hairs and the
medals upon his breast.

But now, he was down with "the rheumatics,"
and from what Lisbeth told me when
I met her on her way to and from his cottage,
it was rather more than likely that the
high-backed elbow-chair would know him no more.

Upon the old fellow's illness, Lisbeth had
promptly set herself to see that he was made
comfortable, for Jasper was a lonely old
man--had installed a competent nurse beside him,
and made it a custom morning and evening
to go and see that all was well.

It was for this reason that I sat upon the
Shrubbery gate towards nine o'clock of a certain
evening, swinging my legs and listening for the
sound of her step along the path.  In the
fullness of time she came, and, getting off my
perch, I took the heavy basket from her arm,
as was usual.

"Dick," she said as we walked on side by
side, "really I'm getting quite worried about
that Imp."

"What has he been up to this time?" I inquired.

"I'm afraid he must be ill."

"He looked anything but ill yesterday," I
answered reassuringly.

"Yes, I know he looks healthy enough,"
said Lisbeth, wrinkling her brows; "but
lately he has developed such an enormous
appetite.  Oh, Dick, it's awful!"

"My poor girl," I retorted, shaking my
head, "the genus 'Boy' is distinguished by
the two attributes dirt and appetite.  You
should know that by this time.  I myself have
harrowing recollections of huge piles of bread
and butter, of vast slabs of cake--damp and
'soggy,' and of mysterious hue--of glutinous
mixtures purporting to be 'stick-jaw,' one inch
of which was warranted to render coherent
speech impossible for ten minutes at least,
And then the joy of bolting things fiercely in
the shade of the pantry, with one's ears on
the stretch for foes!  I sometimes find myself
sighing over the remembrance, even in these
days.  Don't worry about the Imp's appetite;
believe me, it is quite unnecessary."

"Oh, but I can't help it," said Lisbeth; "it
seems somehow so--so weird.  For instance,
this morning for breakfast he had first his
usual porridge, then five pieces of bread and
butter, and after that a large slice of ham--quite
a big piece, Dick!  And he ate it all so
quickly.  I turned away to ask Jane for the
toast, and when I looked at his plate again it
was empty, he had eaten every bit, and even
asked for more.  Of course I refused, so he
tried to get Dorothy to give him hers in
exchange for a broken pocket-knife.  It was
just the same at dinner.  He ate the whole leg
of a chicken, and after that a wing, and then
some of the breast, and would have gone on
until he had finished everything, I'm sure, if I
hadn't stopped him, though I let him eat as long
as I dared.  Then at tea he had six slices of
bread and butter, one after the other, not
counting toast and cake.  He has been like
this for the last two days--and--oh yes, cook
told me to-night that she found him actually
eating dry bread just before he went up to bed.
Dry bread--think of it!  Oh, Dick, what can
be the matter with him?"

"It certainly sounds mysterious," I answered,
"especially as regards the dry bread; but
that of itself suggests a theory, which, as the
detective says in the story, 'I will not divulge
just yet'; only don't worry, Lisbeth, the Imp
is all right."

Being now come to old Jasper's cottage,
which stands a little apart from the village in a
bylane, Lisbeth paused and held out her hand
for the basket.

"Don't wait for me to-night," she said.  "I
ordered Peter to fetch me in the dog-cart;
you see, I may be late."

"Is the old chap so very ill?"

"Very, very ill, Dick."

"Poor old Jasper!" I exclaimed.

"Poor old Jasper!" she sighed, and her eyes
were brimful of tenderness.

"He is very old and feeble," I said, drawing
her close, under pretence of handing her the
basket; "and yet, with your gentle hand to
smooth my pillow, and your eyes to look into
mine, I could almost wish----"

"Hush, Dick!"

"Peter or no Peter, I think I'll wait--unless
you really wish me to say 'Good-night' now?"  But
with a dexterous turn she eluded me, and
waving her hand hurried up the rose-bordered path.

An hour, or even two, does not seem so very
long when one's mind is so full of happy thoughts
as mine was.  Thus, I was filling my pipe and
looking philosophically about for a likely spot
in which to keep my vigil, when I was aware
of a rustling close by, and, as I watched, a
small figure stepped from the shadow of the
hedge out into the moonlight.

"Hallo, Uncle Dick!" said a voice.

"Imp!" I exclaimed; "what does this
mean?  You ought to have been in bed over
an hour ago!"

"So I was," he answered, with his guileless
smile; "only I got up again, you know."

"So it seems!" I nodded.

"An' I followed you an' Auntie Lisbeth all
the way, too."

"Did you though?"

"Yes, an' I dropped one of the parcels an'
lost a sausage, but you never heard."

"Lost a sausage!" I repeated, staring.

"Oh, it's all right, you know," he hastened
to assure me; "I found it again, an' it wasn't
hurt a bit."

"Imp," I said sternly, "come here, I want
to talk to you."

"Just a minute, Uncle Dick, while I get my
parcels.  I want you to help me to carry them,
please, and with the words he dived under
the hedge, to emerge, a moment later, with his
arms full of unwieldy packages, which he laid
at my feet in a row.

"Why, what on earth have you got there, Imp?"

"This," he said, pointing to the first, "is
jam an' ham an' a piece of bread; this next one
is cakes an' sardines, an' this one is bread an'
butter that I saved from my tea."

"Quite a collection!" I nodded.  "Suppose
you tell me what you mean to do with them."

"Well, they're for my outlaw.  You
remember the other day I wanted to play at
being outlaws?  Well, two days ago, as I
was tracking a base caitiff through the woods
with my trusty bow and arrow, I found a real
outlaw in the old boat-house."

"Ah! and what is he like?" I inquired.

"Oh, just like an outlaw--only funny, you
know, an' most awfull' hungry.  Are all outlaws
always so very hungry, Uncle Dick?"'

"I believe they generally are, Imp.  And he
looks 'funny,' you say?"

"Yes; I mean his clothes are funny--all over
marks like little crosses, only they aren't
crosses."

"Like this?" I inquired; and picking up a
piece of stick I drew a broad-arrow upon the path.

"Yes, just like that!" cried the Imp, in a
tone of amazement.  "How did you know?
You're awfull' clever, Uncle Dick!"

"And he is in the old boat-house, is he?" I
said, as I picked up an armful of packages.
"'Lead on, Macduff!'"

"Mind that parcel, please, Uncle Dick;
it's the one I dropped an' lost the sausage out
of--there's one trying to escape now!"

Having reduced the recalcitrant sausage to
a due sense of law and order, we proceeded
toward the old boat-house--a dismal, dismantled
affair, some half-mile or so down stream.

"And what sort of a fellow is your outlaw, Imp?"

"Well, I 'spected he'd be awfull' fierce an'
want to hold me for ransom, but he didn't; he's
quite quiet, for an outlaw, with grey hair and big
eyes, an' eats an awful lot."

"So you saved him your breakfast and
dinner, did you?"

"Oh yes; an' my tea, too.  Auntie Lisbeth
got awfull' angry 'cause she said I ate too fast;
an' Dorothy was frightened an' wouldn't sit by
me 'cause she was 'fraid I'd burst--so
frightfully silly of her!"

"By the way, you didn't tell me what you
have there," I said, pointing to a huge,
misshapen, newspaper parcel that he carried beneath
one arm.

"Oh, it's a shirt, an' a coat, an' a pair of
trousers of Peter's."

"Did Peter give them to you?"

"'Course not; I took them.  You see, my
outlaw got tired of being an outlaw, so he
asked me to get him some 'togs,' meaning
clothes, you know, so I went an' looked in the
stable an' found these."

"You don't mean to say that you stole them, Imp?"

"'Course not!" he answered reproachfully.
"I left Peter sixpence an' a note to say I would
pay him for them when I got my pocket-money."

"Ah, to be sure!" I nodded.

We were close to the old boat-house now, and
upon the Imp's earnest solicitations I handed
over my bundles and hid behind a tree, because,
as he pointed out, "His outlaw might not like
me to see him just at first."

Having opened each package with great care
and laid out their contents upon a log near by,
the Imp approached the ruined building with
signs of the most elaborate caution, and gave
three loud, double knocks.  Now casting my
eyes about, I espied a short, heavy stick, and,
picking it up, poised it in my hand ready in the
event of possible contingencies.

The situation was decidedly unpleasant, I
confess, for I expected nothing less than to be
engaged in a desperate hand-to-hand struggle
within the next few minutes; therefore I waited
in some suspense, straining my eyes towards the
shadows with my fingers clasped tight upon my
bludgeon.

Then all at once I saw a shape, ghostly and
undefined, flit swiftly from the gloom of the
boat-house, and next moment a convict was
standing beside the Imp, gaunt and tall and
wild-looking in the moonlight.

His hideous clothes, stained with mud and
the green slime of his hiding-places, hung upon
him in tatters, and his eyes, deep-sunken in his
pallid face, gleamed with an unnatural brightness
as he glanced swiftly about him--a miserable,
hunted creature, worn by fatigue and pinched
with want and suffering.

"Did ye get 'em, sonny?" he inquired, in a
hoarse, rasping voice.

"Ay, ay, comrade," returned the Imp; "all's well!"

"Bless ye for that, sonny!" he exclaimed,
and with the words he fell to upon the food,
devouring each morsel as it was handed to him
with a frightful voracity, while his burning,
restless eyes glared about him, never still for a
moment.

Now as I noticed his wasted form and shaking
limbs, I knew that I could master him with one
hand.  My weapon slipped from my slackened
grasp, but at the sound, slight though it was,
he turned and began to run.  He had not gone
five yards, however, when he tripped and fell,
and before he could rise I was standing over
him.  He lay there at my feet, perfectly still,
blinking up at me with red-rimmed eyes.

"All right, master," he said at last; "you've
got me!"

But with the words he suddenly rolled
himself towards the river, yet as he struggled
to his knees I pinned him down again.

"Oh, sir, you won't go for to give me up to
them?" he panted.  "I've never done you no
wrong.  Don't send me back to it again, sir."

"'Course not," cried the Imp, laying his hand
upon my arm; "this is only Uncle Dick.  He
won't hurt you; will you, Uncle Dick?"

"That depends," I answered, keeping tight
hold of the tattered coat collar.  "Tell me,
what brings you hanging round here?"

"Used to live up in these parts once, master."

"Who are you?"

"Convict 49, as broke jail over a week ago
an' would ha' died but for the little 'un there,"
and he nodded towards the Imp.

The convict, as I say, was a tall, thin fellow,
with a cadaverous face lined with suffering,
while the hair at his temples was prematurely
white.  And as I looked at him, it occurred to
me that the suffering which had set its mark
so deeply upon him was not altogether the
grosser anguish of the body.  Now for your
criminal who can still feel morally there is
surely hope.  I think so, anyhow!  For a long
moment there was silence, while I stared into
the haggard face below, and the Imp looked
from one to the other of us, utterly at a loss.

"I wonder if you ever heard tell of 'the bye
Jarge,'" I said suddenly.

The convict started so violently that the
jacket tore in my grasp.

"How--how did ye know?" he gasped,
and stared at me with dropped jaw.

"I think I know your father."

"My feyther," he muttered; "old Jasper--'e
ain't dead, then?"

"Not yet," I answered; "come, get up,
and I'll tell you more while you eat."  Mechanically
he obeyed, sitting with his glowing
eyes fixed upon my face the while I told
him of old Jasper's lapse of memory and present
illness.

"Then 'e don't remember as I'm a thief an'
convict 49, master?"

"No; he thinks and speaks of you always
as a boy and a pattern son."

The man uttered a strange cry, and flinging
himself upon his knees buried his face in his
hands.

"Come," I said, tapping him on the shoulder;
"take off those things," and, nodding to the
Imp, he immediately began unwrapping Peter's
garments.

"What, master," cried the convict, starting
up, "are you goin' to let me see 'im afore you
give me up?"

"Yes," I nodded; "only be quick."

In less than five minutes the tattered prison
dress was lying in the bed of the river, and we
were making our way along the path towards
old Jasper's cottage.

The convict spoke but once, and that as we
reached the cottage gate:

"Is he very ill, sir?"

"Very ill," I said.  He stood for a moment,
inhaling the fragrance of the roses in great
breaths, and staring about him; then with an
abrupt gesture he opened the little gate, and
gliding up the path with his furtive, stealthy
footstep, he knocked at the door.

For some half-hour the Imp and I strolled
to and fro in the moonlight, during which he
related to me much about his outlaw and the
many "ruses he had employed to get him
provision."  How upon one occasion, to escape
the watchful eyes of Auntie Lisbeth, he had
been compelled to hide a slice of jam tart in the
trousers pockets, to the detriment of each; how
Dorothy had watched him everywhere in the
momentary expectation of "something happening";
how Jane and Peter and cook would
stand and stare and shake their heads at him
because he ate such a lot, "an' the worst of it
was, I was awfull' hungry all the time, you know,
Uncle Dick!"  This and much more he told
me as we waited there in the moonlight.

At last the cottage door opened and the
convict came out.  He did not join us at once,
but remained staring away towards the river,
though I saw him jerk his sleeve across his eyes
more than once in his furtive, stealthy fashion,
but when at last he came up to us his face was
firm and resolute.

"Did you see old Jasper?" I asked.

"Yes, sir, I saw him."

"Is he any better?"

"Much better--he died in my arms, sir.
An' now I'm ready to go back, there's a police
station in the village."  He stopped suddenly
and turned to stare back at the lighted windows
of the cottage, and when he spoke again his
voice sounded hoarser than ever.

"Thought I'd come back from furrin parts,
'e did, wi' my pockets stuffed full o' gold an'
banknotes.  Called me 'is bye Jarge, 'e did!"
and again he brushed his cuff across his eyes.

"Master, I don't know who ye may be, but
I'm grateful to ye an' more than grateful, sir.
An' now I'm ready to go back an' finish my
time."

"How much longer is that?"

"Three years, sir."

"And when you come out, what shall you do
then?"

"Start all over again, sir; try to get some
honest work an' live straight."

"Do you think you can?"

"I know I can, sir.  Ye see, he died in my
arms, called me 'is bye Jarge, said 'e were proud
of me, 'e did!  A man can begin again an' live
straight an' square wi' a memory the like o'
that to help him."

"Then why not begin to-night?"

He passed a tremulous hand through his
silver hair, and stared at me with incredulous
eyes.

"Begin--to-night," he half whispered.

"I have an old house among the Kentish
hop gardens," I went on; "no one lives there
at present except the caretaker, but it is within
the bounds of probability that I may go to stay
there--some day.  Now the gardens need
trimming, and I'm very fond of flowers.  Do you
suppose you could make the place look decent
in--say, a month?"

"Sir," he said in a strange, broken voice, "you
ain't jokin' with me, are you?"

"I could pay you a pound a week; what do you say?"

He tried to speak, but his lips quivered, and
he turned his back upon us very suddenly.  I
tore a page from my pocket-book and scrawled
a hasty note to my caretaker.

"Here is the address," I said, tapping him
on the shoulder, "You will find no difficulty.
I will write again to-night.  You must of
course have money to get there and may need
to buy a few necessaries besides; here is your
first week's wages in advance," and I thrust a
sovereign into his hand.  He stared down at it
with blinking eyes, shuffling awkwardly with
his feet, and at that moment his face seemed
very worn, and lined, and his hair very grey,
yet I had a feeling that I should not regret my
quixotic action in the end.

"Sir," he faltered--"sir, do ye mean----?"
and stopped.

"I mean that to-night 'the bye Jarge' has
a chance to make a new beginning, a chance to
become the man his father always thought he
would be.  Of course, I may be a fool to trust
you.  That only time will show; but, you see,
I had a great respect for old Jasper.  And, now
that you have the address, you'd better go;
stay, though, you must have a hat; folks
might wonder--take this," and I handed him
my cap.

"Sir, I can't thank ye now, I never can.
It--it won't come; but----"  With a nervous,
awkward gesture he caught my hand, suddenly
pressed it to his lips, and was gone down the
lane.

Thus it was that old Jasper's "bye Jarge"
went out to make a trial of life a second time,
and as I watched him striding through the
moonlight, his head erect, very different from the
shambling creature he had been, it seemed to
me that the felon was already ousted by the man.

"I 'specks he forgot all 'bout me!" said the
Imp disconsolately.

"No," I answered, shaking my head; "I
don't think he will ever forget you, my Imp."

"I s'pose he's awfull' fond of you, Uncle Dick?"

"Not that I know of."

"Then why did he kiss your hand?"

"Oh, well--er--perhaps it is a way he has!"

"He didn't kiss mine," said the Imp.

A door opened and closed very softly, and
Lisbeth came towards us down the path,
whereupon the Imp immediately "took cover" in
the ditch.

"He is dead, Dick!" she said, as I opened
the gate.  "He died in his son's arms--the
George he was always talking about.  And
oh, Dick, he died trying to sing 'The British
Grenadiers.'"

"Poor old Jasper!" I said.

"His son was a convict once, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"It was strange that he should come back
as he did--just in time; it almost seems like
the hand of Providence, doesn't it, Dick?"

"Yes."  Lisbeth was standing with her
elbows upon the gate and her chin in her hands,
staring up at the moon, and I saw that her
eyes were wet with tears.

"Why, where is your cap?" she exclaimed,
when at last she condescended to look at me.

"On the head of an escaped convict," I
answered.

"Do you mean----"

"The 'bye Jarge,'" I nodded.

"Oh, Dick!"

"Yes, Lisbeth; it was a ridiculous piece of
sentiment, I admit.  Your law-abiding
level-headed citizen would doubtless be highly
shocked, not to say scandalised; likewise the
Law might get up on its hind legs and kick--quite
unpleasantly; but all the same, I did it."

"You were never what one might call--very
'level-headed,' were you, Dick?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"And, do you know, I think that is the very
reason why I--good gracious!--what is that?"  She
pointed toward the shadow of the hedge.

"Merely the Imp," I answered; "but never
mind that--tell me what you were going to
say--'the very reason why you'--what?"

"Reginald!" said Lisbeth, unheeding my
question, "come here, sir!"  Very sheepishly
the Imp crept forth from the ditch, and coming
up beside me, stole his hand into mine, and I
put it in my pocket.

"Reginald," she repeated, looking from one
to the other of us with that expression which
always renews within me the memory of my
boyish misdeeds, "why are you not asleep in bed?"

"'Cause I had to go an' feed my outlaw,
Auntie Lisbeth."

"And," I put in to create a diversion,
"incidentally I've discovered the secret of his
'enormous appetite.'  It is explained in three
words, to wit, 'the bye Jarge.'"

"Do you mean to say----" began Lisbeth.

"Fed him regularly twice a day," I went on,
"and nearly famished himself in the doing of
it--you remember the dry-bread incident?"

"Imp!" cried Lisbeth; "Imp!"  And she
had him next moment in her arms.

"But Uncle Dick gave him a whole sovereign,
you know," he began; "an'----"

"I sent him to a certain house, Lisbeth," I
said, as her eyes met mine; "an old house
that stands not far from the village of Down,
in Kent, to prune the roses and things.  I
should like it to be looking its best when we
get there; and----"

"An' my outlaw kissed Uncle Dick's hand,"
pursued the Imp.  "Don't you think he must
love him an awful lot?"

"I gave him a month to do it in," I went
on; "but a month seems much too long when
one comes to consider--what do you think,
Lisbeth?"

"I think that I hear the wheels of the
dog-cart!" she cried.  Sure enough, a moment
later Peter hove in view, and great was his
astonishment at the sight of "Master Reginald."

"Peter," I said, "Miss Elizabeth has changed
her mind, and will walk back with us;
and--er--by the way, I understand that Master
Reginald purchased a coat, a shirt, and a pair
of trousers of you, for which he has already
paid a deposit of sixpence.  Now, if you will
let me know their value----"

"That's hall right, Mr. Brent, sir.  Betwixt
you and me, sir, they wasn't up to much,
nohow, the coat being tightish, sir--tightish--and
the trousis uncommon short in the leg for
a man o' my hinches, sir."

"Nevertheless," said I, "a coat's a coat,
and a pair of trousers are indubitably a pair
of trousers, and nothing can alter the fact;
so if you will send me a bill some time, I shall
be glad."

"Very good, Mr. Brent, sir."  Saying which,
Peter touched his hat, and turning, drove away.

"Now," I said, as I rejoined Lisbeth and the
Imp, "I shall be glad if you will tell me how
long it should take for my garden to look fair
enough to welcome you?"

"Oh, well, it depends upon the gardener,
and the weather, and--and heaps of things,"
she answered, flashing her dimple at me.

"On the contrary," I retorted, shaking my
head, "it depends altogether upon the whim of
the most beautiful, tempting----"

"Supposing," sighed Lisbeth, "supposing
we talk of fish!"

"You haven't been fishing lately, Uncle
Dick," put in the Imp.

"I've had no cause to," I answered; "you
see, I am guilty of such things only when life
assumes a grey monotony of hue and everything
is a flat, dreary desolation.  Do you
understand, Imp?"

"Not 'zackly--but it sounds fine!  Auntie
Lisbeth," he said suddenly, as we paused at
the Shrubbery gate, "don't you think my
outlaw must be very, very fond of Uncle Dick
to kiss his hand?"

"Why, of course he must," nodded Lisbeth.

"If," he went on thoughtfully, "if you
loved somebody--very much--would you kiss
their hand, Auntie Lisbeth?"

"I don't know--of course not!"

"But why not--s'posing their hand was nice
an' clean?"

"Oh, well--really, I don't know.  Imp, run
along to bed, do."

"You'll come and tuck me up, an' kiss me
good-night, won't you?"

"To be sure I will," nodded Lisbeth.

"Why, then, I'll go," said the Imp; and with
a wave of the hand to me he went.

"Dick," said Lisbeth, staring up at the moon,
"it was very unwise of you, to say the least of
it, to set a desperate criminal at large."

"I'm afraid it was, Lisbeth; but then I saw
there was good in the fellow, you know, and--er----"

"Dick," she said again, and then laughed
suddenly, with the dimple in full evidence,
"you foolish old Dick--you know you would
have done it anyway for the sake of that old man."

"Poor old Jasper!" I said; "I'm really
afraid I should."  Then a wonderful thing
happened; for as I reached out my hand to
her, she caught it suddenly in hers, and before
I knew, had pressed her lips upon it--and so
was gone.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE BLASTED OAK`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE BLASTED OAK

.. vspace:: 2

I had quarrelled with Lisbeth; had quarrelled
beyond all hope of redemption and forgiveness,
desperately, irrevocably, and it had all come
about through a handkerchief--Mr. Selwyn's
handkerchief.

At a casual glance this may appear all very
absurd, not to say petty; but then I have
frequently noticed that insignificant things
very often serve for the foundation of great;
and incidentally quite a surprising number
of lives have been ruined by a handkerchief.

The circumstances were briefly these: In
the first place, I had received the following
letter from the Duchess, which had perturbed
me not a little:

.. vspace:: 2

"MY DEAR DICK,--I hear that that Agatha
Warburton creature has written threatening
to cut off our dear Lisbeth with the proverbial
shilling unless she complies with her wish and
marries Mr. Selwyn within the year.  Did you
ever know of anything so disgusting?

"If I were Lisbeth, and possessed such a
'creature' for an aunt, I'd see her in Timbuctoo
first--I would!  But then, I forget the poor
child has nothing in the world, and you little
more, and 'love in a cottage' is all very well,
Dick, up to a certain time.  Of course, it is all
right in novels, but you are neither of you in a
novel, and that is the worst of it.  If
Providence had seen fit to make me Lisbeth's aunt,
now, things might have been very different;
but alas! it was not to be.  Under the circumstances,
the best thing you can do, for her sake
and your own, is to turn your back upon
Arcadia and try to forget it all as soon as
possible in the swirl of London and everyday
life.--Yours, CHARLOTTE C.

.. vspace:: 1

"P.S.--Of course Romance is dead ages
and ages ago; still, it really would be nice if
you could manage to run off with her some
fine night!"

.. vspace:: 2

Thus the fiat had gone forth, the time of
waiting was accomplished; to-day Lisbeth
must choose between Selwyn and myself.

This thought was in my mind as I strode
along the river path, filling me with that
strange exhilaration which comes, I suppose,
to most of us when we face some climax in our lives.

But now the great question, How would she
decide? leaped up and began to haunt me.
Because a woman smiles upon a man, he is
surely a most prodigious fool to flatter himself
that she loves him, therefore.  How would
she decide?  Nay, indeed; what choice had
she between affluence and penury?  Selwyn
was wealthy and favoured by her aunt, Lady
Warburton, while as for me, my case was
altogether the reverse.  And now I called to
mind how Lisbeth had always avoided coming
to any understanding with me, putting me
off on one pretence or another, but always
with infinite tact.  So Fear came to me, and
Doubt began to rear its head; my step grew
slower and slower, till, reaching the Shrubbery
gate, I leaned there in doubt whether to proceed
or not.  Summoning up my resolution, however,
I went on, turning in the direction of
the orchard, where I knew she often sat of
a morning to read or make a pretence of sewing.

I had gone but a little way when I caught
sight of two distant figures walking slowly
across the lawn, and recognised Lisbeth and Mr. Selwyn.

The sight of him here at such a time was
decidedly unpleasant, and I hurried on,
wondering what could have brought him so early.

Beneath Lisbeth's favourite tree, an ancient
apple-tree so gnarled and rugged that it seemed
to have spent all its days tying itself into all
manner of impossible knots--in the shade of
this tree, I say, there was a rustic seat and
table, upon which was a work-basket, a book,
and a handkerchief.  It was a large, decidedly
masculine handkerchief, and as my eyes
encountered it, by some unfortunate chance I
noticed a monogram embroidered in one corner--an
extremely neat, precise monogram, with
the letters "F.S."  I recognised it at once as
the property of Mr. Selwyn.

Ordinarily I should have thought nothing
of it, but to-day it was different; for there
are times in one's life when the most foolish
things become pregnant of infinite possibilities;
when the veriest trifles assume overwhelming
proportions, filling and blotting out the universe.

So it was now, and as I stared down at the
handkerchief, the Doubt within me grew
suddenly into Certainty.

I was pacing restlessly up and down when
I saw Lisbeth approaching; her cheeks seemed
more flushed than usual, and her hand trembled
as she gave it to me.

"Why, whatever is the matter with
you?" she said; "you look so--so strange, Dick."

"I received a letter from the Duchess this
morning."

"Did you?"

"Yes; in which she tells me your Aunt has
threatened to----"

"Cut me off with a shilling," nodded Lisbeth,
crossing over to the table.

"Yes," I said again.

"Well?"

"Well?"

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Dick, stop tramping
up and down like a--a caged bear, and sit
down--do!"

I obeyed; yet as I did so I saw her with the
tail of my eye whip up the handkerchief and
tuck it beneath the laces at her bosom.

"Lisbeth," said I, without turning my head,
"why hide it--there?"

Her face flushed painfully, her lips quivered,
and for a moment she could find no answer;
then she tried to laugh it off.

"Because I--I wanted to, I suppose."

"Obviously!" I retorted, and, rising, bowed
and turned to go.

"Stay a moment, Dick.  I have something
to tell you."

"Thank you, but I think I can guess."

"Can you?"

"Oh yes."

"Aren't you just a little bit theatrical,
Dick?"  Now, as she spoke she drew out
Selwyn's handkerchief and began to tie and
untie knots in it.

"Dick," she went on--and now she was
tracing out Selwyn's monogram with her
finger--"you tell me you know that Aunt
Agatha has threatened to disinherit me; can
you realise what that would mean to me, I
wonder?"

"Only in some small part," I answered
bitterly; "but it would be awful for you, of
course--good-bye to society and all the rest of
it--no more ball-gowns or hats and things from
Paris, and----"

"And bearing all this in mind," she put in,
"and knowing me as you do, perhaps you can
make another guess and tell me what I am
likely to do under these circumstances?"

Now, had I been anything but a preposterous
ass, my answer would have been different; but
then I was not myself, and I could not help
noticing how tenderly her finger traced out
those two letters "F.S.," so I laughed rather
brutally and answered--

"Follow the instinct of your sex and stick
to the Paris hats and things."

I heard her breath catch, and turning away,
she began to flutter the pages of the book upon
the table.

"And you were always so clever at guessing,
weren't you?" she said after a moment, keeping
her face averted.

"At least it has saved your explaining the
situation, and you should be thankful for that."

The book slipped suddenly to the ground and
lay, all unheeded, and she began to laugh in
a strange high key.  Wondering, I took a step
toward her; but as I did so she fled from me,
running toward the house, never stopping or
slackening speed, until I had lost sight of her
altogether.

Thus the whole miserable business had
befallen, dazing me by its very suddenness like a
"bolt from the blue."  I had returned to the
Three Jolly Anglers, determined to follow the
advice of the Duchess and return to London by
the next train.  Yet, after passing a sleepless
night, here I was sitting in my old place beneath
the alders pretending to fish.

The river was laughing among the reed, just
as merrily as ever, bees hummed and butterflies
wheeled and hovered--life and the world were
very fair.  Yet for once I was blind to it all;
moreover, my pipe refused to "draw"--pieces
of grass, twigs, and my pen-knife were alike
unavailing.

So I sat there, brooding upon the fickleness of
womankind, as many another has done before
me, and many will doubtless do after, alack!

And the sum of my thoughts was this:
Lisbeth had deceived me; the hour of trial had
found her weak; my idol was only common
clay, after all.  And yet she had but preferred
wealth to comparative poverty, which surely
according to all the rules of common sense, had
shown her possessed of a wisdom beyond her
years.  And who was I to sit and grieve over
it?  Under the same circumstances ninety-nine
women out of a hundred would have chosen
precisely the same course; but then to me
Lisbeth had always seemed the one exempt--the
hundredth woman; moreover, there be times
when love, unreasoning and illogical, is infinitely
more beautiful than this much-vaunted common
sense.

This and much more was in my mind as I sat
fumbling with my useless pipe and staring with
unseeing eyes at the flow of the river.  My
thoughts, however, were presently interrupted
by something soft rubbing against me, and looking
down, I beheld Dorothy's fluffy kitten, Louise.
Upon my attempting to pick her up, she
bounded from me in that remarkable sideways
fashion peculiar to her kind, and stood regarding
me from a distance, her tail straight up in the
air and her mouth opening and shutting without
a sound.  At length, having given vent to a
very feeble attempt at a mew, she zig-zagged
to me, and, climbing upon my knee, immediately
fell into a purring slumber.

"Hallo, Uncle Dick!--I mean, what ho,
Little-John!" cried a voice, and looking over
my shoulder carefully, so as not to disturb the
balance of "Louise," I beheld the Imp.  It
needed but a glance at the bow in his hand, the
three arrows in his belt, and the feather in his
cap, to tell me who he was for the time being.

"How now, Robin?" I inquired.

"I'm a bitter, disappointed man, Uncle
Dick!" he answered, putting up a hand to feel
if his feather was in place.

"Are you?"

"Yes; the book says that Robin Hood was
'bitter an' disappointed,' an' so am I!"

"Why, how's that?"

The Imp folded his arms and regarded me
with a terrific frown.

"It's all the fault of my Auntie Lisbeth!"
he said in a tragic voice.

"Sit down, my Imp, and tell me all about it."

"Well," he began, laying aside his "trusty
sword," and seating himself at my elbow,
"she got awfull' angry with me yesterday,
awfull' angry, indeed, and she wouldn't play
with me or anything; an' when I tried to be
friends with her an' asked her to pretend she
was a hippopotamus, 'cause I was a mighty
hunter, you know, she just said, 'Reginald, go
away an' don't bother me!'"

"You surprise me, Imp!"

"But that's not the worst of it," he continued,
shaking his head gloomily; "she didn't come to
'tuck me up' an' kiss me good-night like she
always does.  I lay awake hours an' hours
waiting for her, you know; but she never came,
an' so I've left her!"

"Left her!" I repeated.

"For ever an' ever!" he said, nodding a
stern brow.  "I 'specks she'll be awfull' sorry
some day."

"But where shall you go to?"

"I'm thinking of Persia!" he said darkly.

"Oh!"

"It's nice an' far, you know, an' I might
meet Aladdin with the wonderful lamp."

"Alas, Imp, I fear not," I answered, shaking
my head; "and besides, it will take a long,
long time to get there, and where shall you sleep
at night?"

The Imp frowned harder than ever, staring
straight before him as one who wrestles with
some mighty problem; then his brow cleared
and he spoke in this wise:

"Henceforth, Uncle Dick, my roof shall be
the broad expanse of heaven, an'--an'--wait a
minute!" he broke off, and, lugging something
from his pocket, disclosed a tattered,
paper-covered volume (the Imp's books are always
tattered), and hastily turning the pages, paused
at a certain paragraph and read as follows:

"'Henceforth my roof shall be the broad
expanse of heaven, an' all tyrants shall learn
to tremble at my name!'  Doesn't that sound
fine, Uncle Dick?  I tried to get Ben--you
know, the gardener's boy--to come an' live in
the 'greenwood' with me a bit and help to
make 'tyrants' tremble, but he said he was
'fraid his mother might find him some day, an'
he wouldn't, so I'm going to make them tremble
all by myself, unless you will come an' be
Little-John, like you were once before--oh, do!"

Before I could answer, hearing footsteps, I
looked round, and my heart leaped, for there was
Lisbeth coming down the path.

Her head was drooping, and she walked with
a listless air.  Now, as I watched I forgot everything
but that she looked sad, and troubled, and
more beautiful than ever, and that I loved
her.  Instinctively I rose, lifting my cap.  She
started, and for the fraction of a second her eyes
looked into mine, then she passed serenely on
her way.  I might have been a stick or stone
for all the further notice she bestowed.

Side by side, the Imp and I watched her go,
until the last gleam of her white skirt had
vanished amid the green.  Then he folded his
arms and turned to me.

"So be it!" he said, with an air of stern
finality; "an' now, what is a 'blasted oak,'
please?"

"A blasted oak?" I repeated.

"If you please, Uncle Dick."

"Well, it's an oak-tree that has been struck
by lightning."

"Like the one with the 'stickie-out' branches,
where I once hid Auntie Lis--Her stockings?"

I nodded, and, sitting down, began to pack
up my fishing-rod and things.

"I'm glad of that," pursued the Imp
thoughtfully.  "Robin Hood was always saying to
somebody, 'Hie thee to the blasted oak at
midnight!' an' it's nice to have one handy,
you know."

I only said "Yes," and sighed.

"'Whence that doleful visage,' Uncle Dick--I
mean, Little-John?  Is Auntie angry with
you, too?"

"Yes," I answered, and sighed again.

"Oh!" said the Imp, staring, "an' do you
feel like--like--wait a minute"--and once
more he drew out and consulted the tattered
volume--"'do you feel like hanging yourself
in your sword-belt to the arm of yonder tree?'"
he asked eagerly, with his finger upon a certain
paragraph.

"Very like it, my Imp."

"Or--or 'hurling yourself from the topmost
pinnacle of yon lofty crag?'"

"Yes, Imp; the 'loftier' the better."

"Then you must be in love, like Alan-a-Dale;
he was going to hang himself, an' 'hurl
himself off the topmost pinnacle,' you know,
only Robin Hood said, 'Whence that doleful
visage?' an' stopped him--you remember?'

"To be sure," I nodded.

"An' so you are really in love with my Auntie
Lis--Her, are you?"

"Yes."

"Is that why she's angry with you?"

"Probably."

The Imp was silent, apparently plunged
once more in a profound meditation.

"'Fraid there's something wrong with her,"
he said at last, shaking his head; "she's
always getting angry with everybody 'bout
something--you an' me an' Mr. Selwyn----"

"Mr. Selwyn!" I exclaimed.  "Imp, what
do you mean?"

"Well, she got cross with me first--an'
over such a little thing too!  We were in the
orchard, an' I spilt some lemonade on her
gown--only about half a glass, you know, an'
when she went to wipe it off she hadn't a
handkerchief, an' 'course I had none.  So she told
me to fetch one, an' I was just going when
Mr. Selwyn came, so I said, 'Would he lend
Auntie Lisbeth his handkerchief, 'cause she
wanted one to wipe her dress?' an' he said
'Delighted!'  Then Auntie frowned at me
an' shook her head when he wasn't looking.
But Mr. Selwyn took out his handkerchief, an'
got down on his knees, an' began to wipe off
the lemonade, telling her something 'bout his
'heart,' an' wishing he could 'kneel at her feet
for ever'!  Auntie got awfull' red, and told him
to stand up, but he wouldn't; an' then she
looked at me so awfull' cross that I thought
I'd better leave, so while she was saying, 'Rise,
Mr. Selwyn--do!' I ran away, only I could
tell she was awfull' angry with Mr. Selwyn--an'
that's all!"

I rose to my knees, and caught the Imp by
the shoulders.

"Imp," I cried, "are you sure--quite sure
that she was angry with Mr. Selwyn yesterday
morning?"

"'Course I am.  I always know when Auntie
Lisbeth's angry.  An' now let's go an' play at
'Blasted Oaks.'"

"Anything you like, Imp, so long as we find her."

"You're forgetting your fishing-rod an'----"

"Bother the fishing-rod!" I exclaimed, and
set off hurriedly in the direction Lisbeth had
taken.

The Imp trotted beside me, stumbling frequently
over his "trusty sword" and issuing
numberless commands in a hoarse, fierce voice
to an imaginary "band of outlaws."  As for
me, I strode on unheeding, for my mind was
filled with a fast-growing suspicion that I had
judged Lisbeth like a hasty fool.

In this manner we scoured the neighbourhood
very thoroughly, but with no success.
However, we continued our search with
unabated ardour--along the river path to the
water-stairs and from thence by way of the
gardens to the orchard; but not a sign of
Lisbeth.  The shrubbery and paddock yielded
a like result, and having interrogated Peter in
the harness-room, he informed us that "Miss
Helezabeth was hout along with Miss Dorothy."

At last, after more than an hour of this sort
of thing, even the Imp grew discouraged and
suggested "turning pirates."

Our wanderings had led by devious paths,
and now, as luck would have it, we found
ourselves beneath "the blasted oak."

We sat down very solemnly side by side, and
for a long time there was silence.

"It's fine to make 'tyrants tremble,' isn't
it, Uncle Dick?" said the Imp at last.

"Assuredly," I nodded.

"But I should have liked to kiss Auntie
Lisbeth good-bye first, an' Dorothy an'
Louise----"

"What do you mean, my Imp?"

"Oh, you know, Uncle Dick!  'My roof
henceforth shall be the broad expanse.'  I'm
going to fight giants an'--an' all sorts of cads,
you know.  An' then, if ever I get to Persia
an' do find the wonderful lamp, I can wish
everything all right again, an' we should all
be 'happy ever after'--you an' Auntie Lisbeth
an' Dorothy an' me; an' we could live in a
palace with slaves.  Oh, it would be fine!"

"Yes, it's an excellent idea, Imp, but on the
whole slightly risky, because it's just possible
that you might never find the lamp; besides,
you'll have to stop here, after all, because, you
see, I'm going away myself."

"Then let's go away together, Uncle Dick, do!"

"Impossible, my Imp; who will look after
your Auntie Lisbeth and Dorothy and Louise?"

"I forgot that," he answered ruefully.

"And they need a deal of taking care of," I
added.

"'Fraid they do," he nodded; "but there's
Peter," he suggested, brightening.

"Peter certainly knows how to look after
horses, but that is not quite the same.  Lend
me your 'trusty sword.'"

He rose, and drawing it from his belt, handed
it to me with a flourish.

"You remember in the old times, Imp, when
knights rode out to battle, it was customary
for them when they made a solemn promise
to kiss the cross-hilt of their swords, just to
show they meant to keep it.  So now I ask
you to go back to your Auntie Lisbeth, to take
care of her, to shield and guard her from all
things evil, and never to forget that you are
her loyal and true knight; and now kiss your
sword in token, will you?" and I passed back
the weapon.

"Yes," he answered, with glistening eyes,
"I will, on my honour," and he kissed the sword.

"Good!" I exclaimed.  "Thank you, Imp."

"But are you really going away?" he
inquired, looking at me with a troubled face.

"Yes!"

"Must you go?"

"Yes."

"Will you promise to come back some day--soon?"

"Yes, I promise."

"On your honour?"

"On my honour!" I repeated, and in my
turn I obediently kissed his extended sword-hilt.

"Are you going to-night, Uncle Dick?"

"I start very early in the morning, so you
see we had better say 'good-bye' now, my Imp."

"Oh!" he said, and stared away down the
river.  Now, in the buttonhole of my coat there
hung a fading rosebud which Lisbeth had
given me two days ago, and acting on impulse,
I took it out.

"Imp," I said, "when you get back, I want
you to give this to your Auntie Lisbeth and
say--er--never mind, just give it to her, will
you?"

"Yes, Uncle Dick," he said, taking it from
me, but keeping his face turned away.

"And now good-bye, Imp!"

"Good-bye!" he answered, still without
looking at me.

"Won't you shake hands?"

He thrust out a grimy little palm, and as I
clasped it I saw a big tear roll down his cheek.

"You'll come back soon--very soon--Uncle Dick?"

"Yes, I'll come back, my Imp."

And thus it was we parted, the Imp and I,
beneath the "blasted oak," and I know my
heart was strangely heavy as I turned away
and left him.

After I had gone some distance I paused to
look back.  He still stood where I had left
him, but his face was hidden in his arms as
he leaned sobbing against the twisted trunk of
the great tree.

All the way to the Three Jolly Anglers and
during the rest of the evening the thought of
the little desolate figure haunted me, so much
so that, having sent away my dinner untasted,
I took pen and ink and wrote him a letter,
enclosing with it my penknife, which I had
often seen him regard with "the eye of desire,"
despite the blade he had broken upon a certain
memorable occasion.  This done, I became
possessed of a determination to send some
message to Lisbeth also--just a few brief words
which should yet reveal to her something of
the thoughts I bore her ere I passed out of her
life for ever.

For over an hour I sat there, chewing the
stem of my useless pipe and racking my brain,
but the "few brief words" obstinately refused
to come.

Nine o'clock chimed mournfully from the
Norman tower of the church hard by, yet still
my pen was idle and the paper before me blank;
also I became conscious of a tapping
somewhere close at hand, now stopping, now
beginning again, whose wearisome iteration so
irritated my fractious nerves that I flung down
my pen and rose.

The noise seemed to come from the vicinity
of the window.  Crossing to it, therefore, I
flung the casement suddenly open, and found
myself staring into a round face, in which were
set two very round eyes and a button of a
nose, the whole surmounted by a shock of red hair.

"'Allo, Mr. Uncle Dick!"

It needed but this and a second glance at
the round face to assure me that it pertained
to Ben, the gardener's boy.

"What, my noble Benjamin?" I exclaimed.

"No, it's me!" answered the redoubtable
Ben.  "'E said I was to give you this an' tell
you, 'Life an' death!'"  As he spoke he held
out a roll of paper tied about the middle with
a boot lace; which done, the round head
grinned, nodded, and disappeared from my
ken.  Unwinding the boot lace, I spread out
the paper and read the following words, scrawled
in pencil:

.. vspace:: 2

"Hi the to the Blarsted Oke and all will be
forgiven.  Come back to your luving frends
and bigones shall be bigones.  Look to the
hole in the trunk there of.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   "Sined,
       "ROBIN, Outlaw and Knight.

.. vspace:: 1

"P.S.--I mean where i hid her stockings--you no."

.. vspace:: 2

I stood for some time with this truly mysterious
document in my hand, in two minds what
to do about it; if I went, the chances were that
I should run against the Imp, and there would
be a second leave-taking, which in my present
mood I had small taste for.  On the other
hand, there was a possibility that something
might have transpired which I should do well
to know.

And yet what more could transpire?  Lisbeth
had made her choice, my dream was over,
to-morrow I should return to London--and
there was an end of it all; still----

In this pitiful state of vacillation I remained
for some time, but in the end curiosity and a
fugitive hope gained the day, and, taking my
cap, I sallied forth.

It was, as Stevenson would say, "a wonderful
night of stars," and the air was full of their
soft, quivering light, for the moon was late and
had not risen as yet.  As I stepped from the
inn door, somebody in the tap-room struck up
"Tom Bowling" in a rough but not unmusical
voice; and the plaintive melody seemed
somehow to become part of the night.

Truly my feet trod a path of "faerie,"
carpeted with soft mosses, a path winding along
beside a river of shadows, on whose dark tide
stars were floating.  I walked slowly, breathing
the fragrance of the night and watching the
great silver moon creeping slowly up the
spangled sky.  So I presently came to the
"blasted oak."  The hole in the trunk needed
little searching for.  I remembered it well
enough, and thrusting in my hand, drew out a
folded paper.  Holding this close to my eyes,
I managed with no little difficulty to decipher
this message:

.. vspace:: 2

"Don't go unkel dick bekors Auntie lisbeth
wants you and i want you to.  I heard her say so
to herself in the libree and she was crying to,
and didn't see me there but i was.  And she
said O Dick i want you so, out loud bekors she
didn't no I was there.  And i no she was crying
bekors i saw the tiers.  And this is true on my
onner.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   "Sined,
       "Yore true frend and Knight,
           "REGINALD AUGUSTUS."

.. vspace:: 2

A revulsion of feeling swept over me as I read.
Ah! if only I could believe she had said such
words--my beautiful, proud Lisbeth.

Alas! dear Imp, how was it possible to
believe you?  And because I knew it could not
possibly be true, and because I would have
given my life to know that it was true, I began
to read the note all over again.

Suddenly I started and looked round; surely
that was a sob!  But the moon's level rays
served only to show the utter loneliness about
me.  It was imagination, of course, and yet it
had sounded very real.

And she said, "Oh, Dick, I want you so!"

The river lapped softly against the bank, and
somewhere above my head the leaves rustled
dismally.

"Dear little Imp, if it were only true!"

Once again the sound came to me, low and
restrained, but a sob unmistakably.

On the other side of the giant tree I beheld a
figure half sitting, half lying.  The shadow was
deep here, but as I stooped the kindly moon
sent down a shaft of silver light, and I saw a
lovely, startled face, with great, tear-dimmed
eyes.

"Lisbeth!" I exclaimed; then, prompted by
a sudden thought, I glanced hastily around.

"I am alone," she said, interpreting my
thought aright.

"But--here--and--and at such an hour!"
I stammered foolishly.  She seemed to be upon
her feet in one movement, fronting me with
flashing eyes.

"I came to look for the Imp.  I found this on
his pillow.  Perhaps you will explain?" and
she handed me a crumpled paper.

.. vspace:: 2

"DEAR AUNTIE LISBATH" (I read)--"Unkel
dick is going away bekors he is in luv with you
and you are angry with him.  Will you come
at nine o'clock to the Blarsted oke, where I hid
yore stokkings if you want to kiss me and be
kind to me again, come to me bekors I want
someboddie to be nice to me now he is gone.

.. vspace:: 1

"yore luving sorry Imp.

.. vspace:: 1

"P.S.--He said he would like to hang himself
in his sword-belt to the arm of yonder tree and
hurl himself from yon topmost pinnakel, so I
know he is in luv with you."

.. vspace:: 2

"Oh, blessed Imp!"

"And now where is he?" she demanded.

"Lisbeth, I don't know."

"You don't know!  Then why are you here?"

For answer I held out the letter I had found,
and watched while she read the words I could
not believe.

Her hat was off, and the moon made wonderful
lights in the coils of her black hair.  She
was wearing an indoor gown of some thin
material that clung, revealing the gracious lines
of her supple figure, and in the magic of the
moon she seemed some young goddess of the
woods--tall and fair and strong, yet infinitely
womanly.

Now as she finished reading she turned suddenly
away, yet not before I had seen the tell-tale
colour glowing in her cheeks--a slow wave which
surged over her from brow to chin, and chin
to the round, white column of her throat.

"And she said, 'Oh, Dick, I want you so!'
I read aloud.

"Oh," Lisbeth murmured.

"Lisbeth, is it true?"

She stood with her face averted, twisting the
letter in her fingers.

"Lisbeth!" I said, and took a step nearer.
Still she did not speak, but her hands came out
to me with a swift, passionate gesture, and her
eyes looked into mine; and surely none were
ever more sweet, with the new shyness in their
depths and the tears glistening on their lashes.

And in that moment Doubt and Fear were
swallowed up in a great joy, and I forgot all
things save that Lisbeth was before me and that
I loved her.

The moon, risen now, had made a broad path
of silver across the shadowy river to our very
feet, and I remembered how the Imp had once
told me that it was there for the moon fairies
to come down by when they bring us happy
dreams.  Surely, the air was full of moon
fairies to-night.

"Oh, Imp, thrice blessed Imp!"

"But--but Selwyn?" I groaned at last.

"Well?"

"If you love him----"

"But I don't!"

"But if you are to marry him----"

"But I'm not.  I was going to tell you so
in the orchard yesterday, but you gave me no
chance; you preferred to guess, and, of course,
guessed wrong altogether.  I knew it made you
wretched, and I was glad of it, and meant to
keep you so a long, long time; but when I
looked up and saw you standing there so very,
very miserable, Dick, I couldn't keep it up any
longer, because I was so dreadfully wretched
myself, you know."

"Can you ever forgive me?"

"That depends, Dick."

"On what?"

Lisbeth stooped, and, picking up her hat,
began to put it on.

"Depends on what?" I repeated.

Her hat was on now, but for a while she
did not answer, her eyes upon the "fairy
path."  When at last she spoke her voice was very
low and tender.

"'Not far from the village of Down, in
Kent, there is a house,'" she began, "'a very
old house, with pointed gables and panelled
chambers, but empty to-night and desolate.'  You
see I remember it all," she broke off.

"Yes, you remember it all," I repeated,
wondering.

"Dick--I--I want you to--take me there.
I've thought of it all so often.  Take me there,
Dick."

"Lisbeth, do you mean it?"

"It has been the dream of my life for a
long time now--to work for you there, to take
care of you, Dick--you need such a deal, such
a great deal of taking care of--to walk with you
in the old rose garden; but I'm a beggar now,
you know, though I shan't mind a bit if--if
you want me, Dick."

"Want you?" I cried, and with the words
I drew her close and kissed her.

Now, from somewhere in the tree above
came a sudden crack and mighty snapping of
twigs.

"All right, Uncle Dick!" cried a voice;
"it's only the branch.  Don't worry."

"Imp!" I exclaimed.

"I'm coming, Uncle Dick," he answered,
and with much exertion and heavy breathing
he presently emerged into view and squirmed
himself safely to earth.  For a moment he
stood looking from one to the other of us,
then he turned to Lisbeth.

"Won't you forgive me, too, Auntie Lisbeth,
please?" he said.

"Forgive you?" she cried, and, falling on
her knees, gathered him in her arms.

"I'm glad I didn't go to Persia, after all,
Uncle Dick," he said over her shoulder.

"Persia?" repeated Lisbeth wonderingly.

"Oh yes; you were so angry with Uncle
Dick an' me--so frightfull' angry, you know,
that I was going to try to find the 'wonderful
lamp' so I could wish everything all right
again an' all of us 'live happy ever after';
but the blasted oak did just as well, an' was
nicer, somehow, wasn't it?"

"Infinitely nicer," I answered.

"An' you will never be angry with Uncle
Dick or me any more, will you, Auntie--that is,
not frightfull' angry, you know?"

"Never any more, dear."

"On your honour?"

"On my honour!" she repeated, smiling,
but there were tears in her voice.

Very gravely the Imp drew his "trusty
sword," which she, following his instructions,
obediently kissed.

"And now," cried he, "we are all happy
again, aren't we?"

"More happy than I ever hoped or dreamed
to be," answered Lisbeth, still upon her knees;
"and oh, Imp--dear little Imp, come and kiss me."





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.. _`THE LAND OF HEART'S DELIGHT`:

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   CHAPTER VIII


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   THE LAND OF HEART'S DELIGHT

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Surely there never was and never could be
such another morning as this?  Ever since
the first peep of dawn a blackbird had been
singing to me from the fragrant syringa-bush
that blossomed just beneath my window.
Each morning I had wakened to the joyous
melody of his golden song.  But to-day the
order was reversed.  I had sat there at my
open casement, breathing the sweet purity
of the morning, watching the eastern sky turn
slowly from pearl-grey to saffron and from
saffron to deepest crimson, until at last the
new-risen sun had filled all the world with his
glory.  And then this blackbird of mine had
begun--very hoarse at first, trying a note
now and then in a tentative sort of fashion, as
though still drowsy and not quite sure of
himself, but little by little his notes had grown
longer, richer, mellower, until here he was
pouring out his soul in an ecstasy.

Ah! surely there never was, there never
could be, such another morning as this!

Out of the green twilight of the woods a
gentle wind was blowing, laden with the
scent of earth and hidden flowers.  Dewdrops
twinkled in the grass and hung glistening from
every leaf and twig, and beyond all was the
sheen of the murmurous river.

The blackbird was in full song now, and
by degrees others joined in--thrush, and lark,
and linnet, with the humbler voices of the
farmyard--until the sunny air was vibrant with the
chorus.

Presently a man in a sleeved waistcoat
crossed the paddock, whistling lustily, and from
somewhere below there rose a merry clatter of
plates and dishes; and thus the old inn, which
had seen so many mornings, woke up to yet
another.

But there never was, there never could be,
just such another morning as this was!

And in a little while, having dressed with
more than usual care, I went downstairs to
find my breakfast awaiting me in the Sanded
Parlour, having ordered it for this early hour
the night previously--ham and eggs and
fragrant coffee, what mortal could wish for more?

And while I ate, waited on by the
rosy-cheeked chambermaid, in came Master Amos
Baggett, mine host, to pass the time of day,
and likewise to assure me that my baggage
should catch the early train; who, when I rose,
my meal at an end, paused to wipe his honest
hand quite needlessly upon his snowy apron
ere he wished me "Good-bye."

So having duly remembered the aforesaid
rosy-cheeked chambermaid, the obsequious
"Boots," and the grinning ostler, I sallied
forth into the sunshine, and crossing the green,
where stood the battered sign-post, I came
to a flight of rough steps, at the foot of which
my boat was moored.  In I stepped, cast
loose the painter, and shipping the sculls, shot
out into the stream.

No, there never was, there never could be,
just such another morning as this, for to-day
I was to marry Lisbeth, and every stroke
of the oar carried me nearer to her and
happiness.

Gaily the alders bent and nodded to me;
joyfully the birds piped and sang; merrily
the water laughed and chattered against my
prow as I rowed through the golden morning.

Long before the hour appointed I reached
the water-stairs at Fane Court, and, tying my
skiff, lighted my pipe and watched the smoke
rise slowly into the still air while I tried "to
possess my soul in patience."

Sitting thus, I dreamed many a fair dream of
the new life that was to be, and made many
resolutions, as a man should upon his wedding
morn.

And at last came Lisbeth herself, swiftly,
lightly, as fair and sweet and fresh as the
morning, who yet paused awhile to lean upon the
balustrade and look down at me beneath the
brim of her hat.  Up I rose and stretched out
my hands to her, but she still stood there, and
I saw her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shy
and tender.

So once more we stood upon the old water-stairs,
she on the top stair, I on the lower;
and again I saw the little foot beneath her skirt
come slowly towards me and hesitate.

"Dick," she said, "you know that Aunt
Agatha has cut me off--disinherited me
altogether--you have had time to think it all
over?"

"Yes."

"And you are quite--quite sure?"

"Quite!  I think I have been so all my life."

"I'm penniless now, Dick, a beggar, with
nothing in the world but the clothes I wear."

"Yes," I said, catching her hands in mine,
"my beggar-maid; the loveliest, noblest,
sweetest that ever stooped to bestow her love
on man."

"Dick, how glorious everything is this
morning--the earth, the sky, and the river!"

"It is our wedding morning!" said I.

"Our wedding-day," she repeated in a whisper.

"And there never was just such a morning
as this," said I.

"But, Dick, all days cannot be as this--there
must come clouds and storm sometimes,
and--and--oh, Dick! are you sure that you
will never, never regret--"

"I love you, Lisbeth, in the shadow as well
as the sunshine--love you ever and always."  And
so, the little foot hesitating no longer,
Lisbeth came down to me.

Oh, never again could there be such another
morning as this!

"Ahoy!"

I looked round with a start, and there, his
cap cocked rakishly over one eye, his "murderous
cutlass" at his hip and his arms folded
across his chest, stood "Scarlet Sam, the Terror
of the South Seas."

"Imp!" cried Lisbeth.

"Avast!" cried he in lusty tones; "where-away?"

I glanced helplessly at Lisbeth and she at me.

"Where away, shipmate?" he bellowed in
nautical fashion, but before I could find a
suitable answer Dorothy made her appearance
with the fluffy kitten "Louise" cuddled under
her arm as usual.

"How do you do?" she said demurely;
"it's awfully nice to get up so early, isn't it?
We heard Auntie creeping about on tippity-toes,
you know, so we came, too.  Reginald
said she was pretending to be burglars, but I
think she's going 'paddling.'  Are you, Auntie?"

"No, dear; not this morning," answered
Lisbeth, shaking her head.

"Then you are going for a row in Uncle Dick's
boat.  How fine!"

"An' you'll take us with you, won't you,
Uncle Dick?" cried the Imp eagerly.  "We'll
be pirates.  I'll be 'Scarlet Sam,' an' you can
be 'Timothy Bone, the bo'sun,' like you were
last time."

"Impossible, my Imp," I said firmly.  He
looked at me incredulously for a moment, then,
seeing I meant it, his lip began to quiver.

"I didn't think 'T-Timothy B-Bone' would
ever desert me," he said, and turned away.

"Oh, Auntie!" exclaimed Dorothy, "won't
you take us?"

"Dear--not this morning."

"Are you going far, then, Uncle Dick?"

"Yes, very far," I answered, glancing uneasily
from the Imp's drooping figure to Lisbeth.

"I wonder where?"

"Oh--well--er--down the river," I
stammered, quite at a loss.

"Y-e-s, but where?" persisted Dorothy.

"Well, to--er--to----"

"To the 'Land of Heart's Delight,'" Lisbeth
put in, "and you may come with us, after all,
if Uncle Dick will take you."

"To be sure he will, if your Auntie requires
it," I cried, "so step aboard, my hearties, and
lively!"  In a moment the Imp's hand was
in mine, and he was smiling up at me with wet
lashes.

"I knew 'Timothy Bone' could never be a--a
'mutinous rogue,'" he said, and turned to
aid Dorothy aboard with the air of an admiral
on his flagship.

And now, all being ready, he unhitched the
painter, or, as he said, "slipped our cable,"
and we glided out into midstream.

"A ship," he said thoughtfully, "always has
a name.  What shall we call this one?  Last
time we were 'pirates' and she was the *Black
Death*----"

"Never mind last time, Imp," I broke in;
"to-day she is the *Joyful Hope*."

"That doesn't sound very 'pirate-y,' somehow,"
he responded, with a disparaging shake
of the head, "but I s'pose it will have to do."

And so, upon that summer morning, the good
ship *Joyful Hope* set sail for the "Land of
Heart's Delight," and surely no vessel of her
size ever carried quite such a cargo of happiness
before or since.

And once again "Scarlet Sam" stamped
upon the "quarter-deck" and roared orders
anent "lee-shrouds" and "weather braces,"
with divers injunctions concerning the "helm,"
while his eyes rolled and he flourished his
"murderous cutlass" as he had done upon a
certain other memorable occasion.

Never, never again could there be just such
another morning as this--for two of us at
least.

On we went, past rush and sedge and weeping
willow, by roaring weir and cavernous lock,
into the shadow of grim stone bridges and out
again into the sunshine, past shady woods and
green uplands, until at length we "cast anchor"
before a flight of steps leading up to a particularly
worn stone gateway surmounted by a
crumbling stone cross.

"Why," exclaimed the Imp, staring, "this is
a church!"

"Imp," I nodded, "I believe it is."

"But to-day isn't Sunday, you know," he
remonstrated, seeing it was our intention to
land.

"Never mind that, Imp; 'the better the
deed, the better the day, you know.'"

On we went, Dorothy and the Imp in front,
while Lisbeth and I brought up the rear, and she
slipped her hand into mine.  In the porch we
came upon an aged woman busy with a broom
and a very large duster, who, catching sight
of us, dropped first the duster and then the
broom, and stood staring in open-mouthed
astonishment.

And there, in the dim old church, with the
morning sun making a glory of the window
above our heads, and with the birds for our
choristers, the vows were exchanged and the
blessing pronounced that gave Lisbeth and her
future into my keeping; yet I think we were
both conscious of those two small figures in the
gloom of the great pew behind, who stared in
round-eyed wonderment.

The register duly signed, and all formalities
over and done, we go out into the sunshine;
and once more the aged woman, richer now by
half a crown, is reduced to mute astonishment,
so that speech is beyond her, when the Imp,
lifting his feathered cap, politely wishes her
"good morning."

Once more aboard the *Joyful Hope*, there
ensued an awkward pause, during which Lisbeth
looked at the children and I at her.

"We must take them back home," she said at last.

"We shall miss our train, Lisbeth."

"But," and here she blushed most delightfully,
"there is really no hurry; we can take a--a later one."

"So be it," I said, and laid our course accordingly.

For a time there was silence, during which
the Imp, as if in momentary expectation of an
attack by bloodthirsty foes, scowled about him,
pistol in hand, keeping, as he said, "his weather
eye lifting," while Dorothy glanced from
Lisbeth to me and back again with puzzled brows.

"I do believe you have been marrying each
other!" she said suddenly.  The Imp forgot
all about his "weather eye" and stared aghast.

"'Course not," he cried at last.  "Uncle
Dick wouldn't do such a thing, would you,
Uncle Dick?"

"Imp, I have--I do confess it."

"Oh!" he exclaimed in a tone of deepest
tragedy.  "And you let him go and do it,
Auntie Lisbeth?"

"He was so very, very persistent, Imp," she
said, actually turning crimson beneath his
reproachful eye.

"Don't be too hard on us, Imp," I pleaded.

"I s'pose it can't be helped now," he said, a
little mollified, but frowning sternly, nevertheless.

"No," I answered, with my eyes upon Lisbeth's
lovely, blushing face, "it certainly can't
be helped now."

"And you'll never do it again?"

"Never again, Imp."

"Then I forgive you, only why--why did
you do it?"

"Well, you see, my Imp, I have an old house
in the country, a very cosy old place, but it's
lonely, horribly lonely, to live by oneself.  I've
wanted somebody to help me to live in it for a
long time, but nobody would, you know, Imp.
At last your Auntie Lisbeth has promised to
take care of the house and me, to fill the desolate
rooms with her voice and sweet presence, and
my empty life with her life.  You can't quite
understand how much this means to me now,
Imp, but you will some day, perhaps."

"But are you going to take our Auntie
Lisbeth away from us?" cried Dorothy.

"Yes, dear," I answered, "but----"

"Oh, I don't like that one bit!"  exclaimed
the Imp.

"But you shall come there and stay with us
us often as you wish," said Lisbeth.

"That would be perfectly beautiful!" cried
Dorothy.

"Yes, but when?" inquired the Imp gloomily.

"Soon," I answered.

"Very soon!" said Lisbeth.

"Will you promise to be 'Timothy Bone, the
bo'sun,' an' the 'Black Knight,' an'
'Little-John' whenever I want you to, Uncle Dick?"

"I will, Imp."

"An' make me a long sword with a--a 'deadly point'?"

"Yes," I nodded, "and show you some real
ones, too."

"Real ones?" he cried.

"Oh yes, and armour as well; there's lots
of it in the old house, you know."

"Let's go now!" he cried, nearly upsetting
the boat in his eagerness.

"Oh!  Oh, Dick!" cried Lisbeth at this
moment, "Dick--there's aunt!"

"Aunt?" I repeated.

"Aunt Agatha, and she sees us; look!"

Turning my head, I beheld a most unexpected
sight.  Advancing directly upon us was the
old boat, that identical, weather-beaten tub of
a boat in which Lisbeth and I had come so
near ending our lives together, the which has
already been told in these Chronicles.  On the
rowing-thwart sat Peter, the coachman, and
in the stern-sheets, very grim and stiff in the
back, her lorgnette to her eyes, was Lady
Warburton.

Escape was quite out of the question, and in
half a dozen strokes of the oar we were alongside
and close under the battery of the lorgnette.

"Elizabeth," she began, in her most ponderous
manner, ignoring my presence altogether, "Elizabeth,
child, I blush for you."

"Then, aunt, please don't," cried Lisbeth;
"I can do quite enough of that for myself.
I'm always blushing lately," and as if to prove
her words she immediately proceeded to do so.

"Elizabeth," proceeded Lady Warburton,
making great play with her lorgnette, "your
very shameless, ungrateful letter I received
last night.  This morning I arose at an
objectionably early hour, travelled down in a draughty
train, and here I am out on a damp and nasty
river in a leaky boat, with my feet horribly
wet, but determined to save you from an act
which you may repent all your days."

"Excuse me," I said, bowing deeply, "but
such heroic devotion cannot be sufficiently
appreciated and admired.  In Lisbeth's name
I beg to thank you; nevertheless----"

"Mr. Brent, I believe?" she said in a tone of
faint surprise, as though noticing my presence
for the first time.

"At your service, madam!" I answered,
with another bow.

"Then I must ask you to convey my ward
back to Fane Court immediately; she and
the children will accompany me to London at
once."

"My dear Lady Warburton," I said, fronting
the lorgnette with really admirable fortitude,
"it grieves me to deny you this request, but,
believe me, it is impossible!"

"Impossible!" she repeated.

"Quite!" I answered.  "You here behold
the good ship *Joyful Hope*, bound for the 'Land
of Heart's Delight,' and we aboard are all
determined on our course."

"'An' the wind blows fair, an' our helm's
a-lee, so it's heave, my mariners, all--O!'"
cried the Imp in his nautical voice.

"Dear me!" ejaculated Lady Warburton,
staring.  "Elizabeth, be so obliging as to tell
me what it all means.  Why have you dragged
these children from their beds to come
philandering upon a horrid river at such an hour?"

"Excuse me, aunt, but she didn't drag us,"
protested the Imp, bowing exactly as I had
done a moment before.

"Oh no, we came," nodded Dorothy.

"An' we've been getting married, you know,"
said the Imp.

"And it was all very, very beautiful," added
Dorothy.

"Married!" cried Lady Warburton in a tone
of horror; "married!"

"They would do it, you know," sighed the Imp.

"And quite right, too," said Dorothy;
"everybody always marries somebody, some
time; it's very fashionable at present.  Mamma
did, and so shall I when I grow up, I suppose."

"Goodness gracious, child!" exclaimed Lady
Warburton.

"I s'pose you're angry 'bout it, aunt,"
pursued the Imp.  "I was at first--just a
weeny bit; but you see Uncle Dick has a
wonderful house with swords an' armour, but
empty, an' he wanted to keep somebody in it
to see that everything was nice, I s'pose, an'
sing, you know, an' take care of his life.  Auntie
Lisbeth can sing, an' she wanted to go, so I
forgave them."

"Oh, indeed, Reginald?" said Lady Warburton
in a rather queer voice, and I saw
the corners of her high thin nose quiver
strangely.

"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am," said Peter
at this moment, touching his cap, "I don't
know much about boats, my line bein' 'osses,
but I do think as this 'ere boat is a-goin' to
sink."

"Then row for the shore instantly," said
Lady Warburton firmly, "and should I never
reach it alive"--here she brought her lorgnette
to bear on Lisbeth--"I say if I *do* meet a
watery grave this day, my epitaph shall be,
'Drowned by the Ingratitude of a Niece.'"

However, this gloomy tragedy being happily
averted, and Lady Warburton safely landed,
I, at a nod from Lisbeth, rowed to the bank
likewise, and we all disembarked together.

Now, as kind Fortune would have it, and
Fortune was very kind that morning, the place
where we stood was within a stone's-throw of
the Three Jolly Anglers, and wafted to us on
the warm, still air there came a wondrous
fragrance, far sweeter and more alluring to the
hungry than the breath of roses or honeysuckle--the
delightful aroma of frying bacon.

Lady Warburton faced us, her parasol tucked
beneath her arm, looking very much like a
military officer on parade.

"Dorothy and Reginald," she said in a
short, sharp voice of command, "bid good-bye
to your Auntie Lisbeth and accompany me
home at once."

"No, no," cried Lisbeth, with hands stretched
out appealingly, "you will not leave us like
this, Aunt--for the sake of the love I shall
always bear you, and--and----"

"Elizabeth, I cared for you from your
babyhood up.  Ingratitude is my return.  I
watched you grow from child to woman.  I
planned out a future for you; you broke
those plans.  I might tell you that I am a
lonely, disappointed old woman, who loved
you much more than she thought, but I won't!"

"Dear, dear Aunt Agatha, did you love me
so much, and I never guessed; you wouldn't
let me, you see.  Ah! do not think me
ungrateful, but when a woman comes to marry
she must choose for herself, as I have done; and
I am happy, dear, and proud of my choice--proud
to have won the true love of a true man;
only do not think I am ungrateful.  And if
this must be good-bye, do not let us part like
this--for my sake and your sake and the sake
of my--husband."

Lady Warburton had turned away, and there
ensued a somewhat embarrassing pause.

"Elizabeth," she said suddenly, "if I don't
mistake, somebody is frying bacon somewhere,
and I'm ravenously hungry."

"So am I," cried the Imp.

"And so am I," Dorothy chimed in.

"Then suppose we have breakfast," I suggested,
and in almost less time than it takes
to tell I was leading the way across the green
with Lady Warburton on my arm--actually
leaning on my arm.

And now who so surprised to see us as honest
Amos Baggett, ushering us with many bows
and smiles into the Sanded Parlour, where
breakfast was soon ready; and who so quick
and dexterous in attending to our wants as the
rosy-cheeked chambermaid?

And what a breakfast that was!  Never
had the antique andirons on the hearth, the
pewter plates and dishes upon the walls, the
brass-bound blunderbuss above the mantel
seemed so bright and polished before, and surely
never had they gleamed upon a merrier company.
To be sure, the Imp's remarks were somewhat
few and far between, but that was simply on
account of the blackberry jam.

"I suppose you are both ridiculously happy,"
said Lady Warburton, eyeing us over her coffee-cup.

"Most absurdly!" answered Lisbeth, blushing
all in a moment.

"Preposterously!" I nodded.

"Of course!" said Lady Warburton, and
setting down her cup, she sighed, while I
wondered what memories her narrow life could
hold.

"Uncle Dick," said the Imp suddenly,
"do you s'pose Scarlet Sam ever ate
blackberry jam?"

"Undoubtedly, my Imp, when he could
get it."  This appeared greatly to relieve his
mind, for he took another helping.

But all things must have an end, alas!--even
such a breakfast as this, and presently
we were out in the sunshine again, standing
beneath the weather-beaten sign whereon three
faded fishermen fished with faded rods in a
faded stream; while away down the road we
could see Peter already approaching with the
carriage.

"And now I suppose you are going?" said
Lady Warburton.

"There is a train at half-past ten," I
answered.

"An' we are going too!" said Dorothy.

"Yes, we're quite ready, Uncle Dick!"
cried the Imp, thrusting his pistols into his belt.

"But you wouldn't leave me all alone,
would you, children?" asked Lady Warburton,
and there was a certain wistfulness in her sharp
face that seemed new to it.

"'Course not," sighed the Imp, "only----"

"We must stay and take care of her,
Reginald," nodded Dorothy decisively.

"Yes, I'll take care of you, Aunt, with
lance, battle-axe, an' sword, by day an' night,"
said the Imp, "only--I should have liked to
see Uncle Dick's wonderful house, with the
real swords an' armour, in the Land of Heart's
Delight--some day, you know."

"And so you shall!" cried Lady Warburton,
and she actually stooped to kiss him, and then
Dorothy, rather "pecky" kisses, perhaps, but
very genuine kisses notwithstanding.

"Richard," she said, giving me her hand,
"we shall come down to your wonderful house--all
three of us, next week, so be prepared--now
be off--both of you."

"Then you forgive me, Aunt?" asked Lisbeth, hesitating.

"Well, I don't quite know yet, Lisbeth;
but, my dear, I'll tell you something I have
never mentioned to a living soul but you:
if I had acted forty years ago as you did to-day,
I should have been a very different creature
from the cross-grained old woman you think
me.  There--there's a kiss, but as for forgiving
you--that is quite another matter, I must have
time to think it over.  Good-bye, my dear:
and, Richard, fill her life with happiness, to
make up for mine, if you can.  Children, bid
good-bye to your Auntie--and Uncle Dick!"

"You won't forget the sword with the
'deadly point,' will you, Uncle Dick?"

"I won't forget, my Imp!"  Hereupon he
tried to smile, but his trembling lips refused,
and snatching his hand from mine, he turned
away; as for Dorothy, she was sobbing into
the fur of the fluffy kitten.

Then I helped Lisbeth aboard the *Joyful
Hope*, loving her the more for the tears that
gleamed beneath her long lashes, and "casting
loose," we glided out into the stream.

There they stood, the two children, with
the white-haired figure between them, Dorothy
holding up the round-eyed "Louise," for a
parting glimpse, and the Imp flourishing his
cutlass, until a bend of the river hid them from
view.

So Lisbeth and I sailed on together through
the golden morning to the "Land of Heart's
Delight."

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