es that deserves all he gets," I said, shaking my head.
"And what is his name?"

"The Honourable Frank Selwyn, an' he lives at Selwyn Park--the next
house to ours."

"Oho!" I exclaimed, and whistled.

"Uncle Dick," said the Imp, breaking in upon a somewhat unpleasant train
of thought conjured up by this intelligence, "will you come an' be
'Little-John under the merry greenwood tree? Do?"

"Why what do you know about 'the merry greenwood,' Imp?"

"Oh lots!" he answered, hastily pulling out the tattered book. "This is
all about Robin Hood an' Little-John. Ben, the gardener's boy, lent it
to me. Robin Hood was a fine chap an' so was Little-John an' they used
to set ambushes an' capture the Sheriff of Nottingham an' all sorts of
caddish barons, an' tie them to trees.

"My Imp," I said, shaking my head, "the times are sadly changed. One
cannot tie barons--caddish or otherwise--to trees in these degenerate
days."

"No, I s'pose not," sighed the Imp dolefully; "but I do wish you would
be Little-John, Uncle Dick."

"Oh, certainly, Imp, if it will make you any happier; though of a
truth, bold Robin," I continued after the manner of the story books,
"Little-John hath a mind to bide awhile and commune with himself here;
yet give but one blast upon thy bugle horn and thou shalt find my arm
and quarter-staff ready and willing enough, I'll warrant you!"

"That sounds awfull' fine, Uncle Dick, only--you haven't got a
quarter-staff, you know."

"Yea, 'tis here!" I answered, and detached the lower joint of my
fishing rod. The Imp rose, and folding his arms, surveyed me as Robin
Hood himself might have done--that is to say, with an 'eye of fire.'

"So be it, my faithful Little-John," quoth he; "meet me at the Blasted
Oak at midnight. An' if I shout for help--I mean blow my bugle--you'll
come an' rescue me, won't you, Uncle Dick?"

"Ay; trust me for that," I answered, all unsuspecting.

"'Tis well!" nodded the Imp; and with a wave of his hand he turned and
scrambling up the bank disappeared. Of the existence of Mr. Selwyn I
was already aware, having been notified in this particular by the
Duchess, as I have told in the foregoing narrative. Now, a rival in
air--in the abstract, so to speak--is one thing, but a rival who was on
a sufficiently intimate footing to deal in personal compliments, and
above all, one who was already approved of and encouraged by the powers
that be, in the person of Lady Warburton--Lisbeth'