“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 ho use, with pointed gables and pannelled 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 sha’n’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!”
“So help you Sam?”
“So help me Sam!” 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.”
VIII
THE LAND OF HEART’S DELIGHT
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
