“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!”

0n 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 he 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 Pane 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 be hind 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.

II

THE SHERIFF OF NOTTINGHAM

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.”

0 wondrous word! 0 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 papercovered 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”