. But I think love is awfull' silly, don't you, Uncle Dick?"

"Occasionally I greatly fear so," I sighed.

"You wouldn't go loving anybody, would you, Uncle Dick?"

"Not if I could help it," I answered, shaking my head; "but I do love
some one, and that's the worst of it."

"Oh!" exclaimed the Imp, but in a tone more of sorrow than anger.

"Don't be too hard on me, Imp," I said; "your turn may come when you
are older; you may love somebody one of these days."

The Imp frowned and shook his head. "No," he answered sternly; "when I
grow up big I shall keep ferrets. Ben, the gardener's boy, has one
with the littlest, teeniest pink nose you ever saw."

"Certainly a ferret has its advantages," I mused. "A ferret will not
frown upon one one minute and flash a dimple at one the next. And
then, again, a ferret cannot be reasonably supposed to possess an aunt.
There is something to be said for your idea after all, Imp."

"Why, then, let's be pirates, Uncle Dick," he said with an air of
finality. "I think I'll be Scarlet Sam, 'cause I know all about him,
an' you can be Timothy Bone, the boatswain."

"Aye, aye, sir," I responded promptly; "only I say, Imp, don't roll
your eyes so frightfully or you may roll yourself overboard."

Scorning reply, he drew his cutlass, and setting it between his teeth
in most approved pirate fashion, sat, pistol in hand, frowning
terrifically at creation in general.

"Starboard your helm--starboard!" he cried, removing his weapon for the
purpose.

"Starboard it is!" I answered.

"Clear away for action!" growled the Imp. "Double-shot the cannonades,
and bo'sun, pipe all hands to quarters."

Whereupon I executed a lively imitation of a boatswain's whistle. Most
children are blessed with imagination, but the Imp in this respect is
gifted beyond his years. For him there is no such thing as "pretence";
he has but to close his eyes a moment to open them upon a new and a
very real world of his own--the golden world of Romance, wherein so few
of us are privileged to walk in these cold days of common-sense. And
yet it is a very fair world peopled with giants and fairies; where
castles lift their grim, embattled towers; where magic woods and
forests cast their shade, full of strange beasts; where knights ride
forth with lance in rest and their armour shining in the sun. And
right well we know them. There is Roland, Sir William Wallace, and
Hereward the Wake; Ivanhoe, the Black Knight,