“I think you had better come up to the house,” said Mr. Se1wyn.

“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 ball-room; 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 ‘spose Mr. Selwyn wants to put his arm round Auntie Lis - “

“Possibly!”

“An’ do you ‘spose 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 eves 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 cold 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. Thus the resplendent footman happened to turn his head, presently espied me, and removing his plush-clad arm from the waist of the trim maidservant, 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 to plush and gold braid; “oh, I know your kind, I do - I know yer!”

“Then, fellow,” quoth I, “I know not thee, by Thor, I swear it and Og the Terrible, King of Bashan!”

“‘Ogs is it?” said he indignantly, “don’t get trying to come over me with yer ‘ogs; no nor yet yer fellers! The question is, wo’t are you ‘anging round ‘ere for?” Now, possibly deceived by my pacific attitude, or inspired by the bright eyes of the trim maidservant, he seized me, none too gently, by the collar, to the horrified dismay of the Imp.

“Nay, but I will, give thee moneys - “

“You are a-going to come up to the ‘ouse with me, and no blooming 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 in 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 maidservant 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 pellmell 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 - God rest you, fair Knight!”

V

THE EPISODE OF THE INDIAN’S AUNT

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. Lyon-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 Izaac’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 over-charged 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 ta-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.”