“Then you must be in love, like Alan-a-Dale; he was going to hang himself, an’ ‘hurl himself oft 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 Lisbeth, 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 forever!’ Auntie got awfull’ red, an’ 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’ - “
“Fishing rod be - blowed!” I exclaimed, and set oft 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, so help me Sam!” 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.
