! 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