Now, as we have said before, Timothy Tuttle was no coward, and, stepping up to one of the little Imps who had just flown in, he said:—
“You seem to know me.”
“Oh, yes, Timothy!” replied the little fellow, nodding violently. “Yes! I know you! I know you!”
“Well, where do you all go to out those windows? And where do you come from?”
“Oh, I’ve just been to China!”
Timothy looked as if he did not believe him.
“Yes, I’ve just been to the China seas, on board your ships, and I have been counting your wealth.” And the little wretch winked fast and knowingly.
Timothy was dumb. He remembered what he had been thinking when he fell asleep.
His grinning companion left him, and he wandered about the great edifice, where he saw a large number of little Imps busily at work. Some were painting the wall with small brushes. It was amazing to see how rapidly they could sketch a picture.
Timothy watched them for a moment, and fairly held his breath when he saw one by one past scenes of his own life start out upon the wall. Many of the scenes he had thought that no one knew of but himself. But here one or another of his deeds, good and bad, was drawn to the very life upon the wall! And as they worked, the little fellows grinned and sang, but Timothy could not understand what they said.