"Why, Imp, my darling, you're crying!" exclaimed a voice, and with a rustle of skirts Lisbeth was down before him on her knees.
"I know I am—'cause I'm awfull' sorry—an' Uncle Dick's whipped my hands—an' I'm glad!"
"Whipped your hands?" cried Lisbeth, clasping him closer, and glaring at me, "Whipped your hands—how dare he! What for?"
"'Cause I cut the rope an' let the boat go away with you, an' you might have been drowned dead in the weir, an' I'm awfull' glad Uncle Dick whipped me."
"O-h-h!" exclaimed Lisbeth, and it was a very long drawn "oh!" indeed.
"I don't know what made me do it," continued the imp. "I 'specks it was my new knife—it was so nice an sharp, you know."
"Well, it's all right now, my Imp," I said, fumbling for a match in a singularly clumsy manner. "If you ask me, I think we are all better friends than ever—or should be. I know I should be fonder of your Auntie Lisbeth even than before, and take greater care of her, if I were you. And—and now take her in to tea, my Imp, and—and see that she has plenty to eat," and lifting my hat I turned away. But Lisbeth was beside me, and her hand was on my arm before I had gone a yard.
"We are having tea in the same old place—under the trees. If you would care to—to—would you?"
"Yes, do—oh do, Uncle Dick!" cried the Imp. "I'll go and tell Jane to set a place for you," and he bounded off.
"I didn't hit him very hard," I said, breaking a somewhat awkward silence; "but you see there are some things a gentleman cannot do. I think he understands now."