seeing I am
but human after all, I sat down and re-filling my pipe, fell once more
anathematising the Imp.

"Hist!"

A small shape flittered from behind an adjacent tree, and lo! the
subject of my thoughts stood before me.

Imp' I said "come here." He obeyed readily. "When you cut that rope
and set your Auntie Lisbeth adrift, you didn't remember the man who was
drowned in the weir last month, did you?"

"No!" he answered, staring.

"Of course not," I nodded; "but all the same it is not your fault that
your Auntie Lisbeth is not drowned--just as he was."

"Oh!" exclaimed the Imp, and his beloved bow slipped from his nerveless
fingers.

"Imp," I went on, "it was a wicked thing to cut that rope, a mean,
cruel trick, Don't you think so?"

"I 'specks it was, Uncle Dick."

"Don't you think you ought to be punished?" He nodded. "Very well," I
answered, "I'll punish you myself. Go and cut me a nice, straight
switch," and I handed him my open penknife. Round-eyed, the Imp
obeyed, and for a space there was a prodigious cracking and snapping of
sticks. In a little while he returned with three, also the blade of my
knife was broken, for which he was profusely apologetic.

"Now," I said as I selected the weapon fittest for the purpose, "I am
going to strike you hard on either hand with this stick that is, if you
think you deserve it."

"Was Aunt Lisbeth nearly drowned--really?" he inquired.

"Very nearly, and was only saved by a chance."

"All right, Uncle Dick, hit me," he said, and held out his hand. The
stick whizzed and fell--once--twice. I saw his face grow scarlet and
the tears leap to his eyes, but he uttered no sound.

"Did it hurt very much, my Imp?" I inquired, as I tossed the stick
aside. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, while I turned to
light my pipe, wasting three matches quite fruitlessly.

"Uncle Dick," he burst out at last, struggling manfully against his
sobs, "I--I'm awfull'--sorry--"

"Oh, ifs all right now, Imp. Shake hands!" Joyfully the little, grimy
fingers clasped mine, and from that moment I think there grew up
between us a new understanding.

"Why, Imp, my darling, you're crying!" exclaimed a voice, and with a
rustle of skirts Lisbeth was down before him on her knees.

"I know I am--'cause I'm awfull' sorry--an' Uncle Dick's whipped my
hands--an' I'm glad!"

"Whipped your hands?" cried Lisbeth, clasping him closer, and glaring
at me, "Whipped your hands--how