disconsolately.

"No," I answered, shaking my head; "I don't think he will ever forget
you, my Imp."

"I 'spose he's awfull' fond of you, Uncle Dick?"

"Not that I know of,"

"Then why did he kiss your hand?"

"Oh, well--er--perhaps it is a way he has."

"He didn't kiss mine," said the Imp.

A door opened and closed very softly, and Lisbeth came towards us down
the path, whereupon the Imp immediately "took cover" in the ditch.

"He is dead, Dick!" she said as I opened the gate. "He died in his
son's arms--the George he was always talking about. And oh, Dick, he
died trying to sing 'The British Grenadiers."

"Poor old Jasper!" I said.

"His son was a convict once, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"It was strange that he should come back as he did--just in time; it
almost seems like the hand of Providence, doesn't it, Dick?"

"Yes." Lisbeth was standing with her elbows upon the gate and her chin
in her hands, staring up at the moon, and I saw that her eyes were wet
with tears.

"Why, where is your cap?" she exclaimed when at last she condescended
to look at me.

"On the head of an escaped convict,"

I answered.

"Do you mean--"

"The 'bye Jarge,'" I nodded.

"Oh, Dick!"

"Yes, Lisbeth; it was a ridiculous piece of sentiment I admit. Your
law abiding, level-headed citizen would doubtless be highly shocked,
not to say scandalised; likewise the Law might get up on its hind legs
and kick--quite unpleasantly; but all the same, I did it."

"You were never what one might call--very 'level-headed,' were you,
Dick?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"And, do you know, I think that is the very reason why I--good
gracious!--what is that?" She pointed toward the shadow of the hedge.

"Merely the Imp," I answered; "but never mind that--tell me what you
were going to say--'the very reason why you'--what?"

"Reginald!" said Lisbeth, unheeding my question, "come here, sir!" Very
sheepishly the Imp crept forth from the ditch, and coming up beside me,
stole his hand into mine, and I put it in my pocket.

"Reginald?" she repeated, looking from one to the other of us with that
expression which always renews within me the memory of my boyish
misdeeds, "why are you not asleep in bed?"

"'Cause I had to go an' feed my outlaw, Auntie Lisbeth."

"And," I put in to create a diversion, "incidentally I've discovered
the secret of his 'enormous appetite.' It is explained in three words,
to wit, 'the bye Jarge."

"Do you mea