den 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 paper-covered 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?"