“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 yardarm.’

“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 kill three or four people every morning, just to get an appetite for breakfast.” The Imp regarded me with round eyes.

“How fine!” he breathed, hugging himself in an ecstasy.

“It was,” I nodded: “and then he was a very wonderful man in other ways. You see, he was always getting himse1f 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 yardarm - with a bitter smile’?”

“Lots of ‘em!” I answered.

“An’ make them ‘walk the plank - with a horrid laugh’?”

“By the hundred!”

“An’ ‘maroon them on a desolate island - with a low chuckle’?”

“Many a time,” I answered; “and generally with 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 some one, 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 advantages, 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 terrifically 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 cannonades, and bo’sun, pipe all hands to quarters.”

Whereupon 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 peop1ed 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. There is Amyas Leigh, old Salvation Yeo, and that lovely rascal Long John Silver. 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 with a ‘murderous broadside!’” 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.

“Damn!” said Mr. Selwyn, 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. Se1wvn 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 Crux. In us you behold Scarlet Sam and Timothy Bone, of the good ship Black Death, with the ‘skull and cross-bones’ 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 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 beast, and - “