"He didn't kiss mine," said the Imp.
A door opened and closed very softly, and Lisbeth came towards us down the path, whereupon the Imp immediately "took cover" in the ditch.
"He is dead, Dick!" she said as I opened the gate. "He died in his son's arms—the George he was always talking about. And oh, Dick, he died trying to sing 'The British Grenadiers."
"Poor old Jasper!" I said.
"His son was a convict once, wasn't he?"
"Yes."
"It was strange that he should come back as he did—just in time; it almost seems like the hand of Providence, doesn't it, Dick?"
"Yes." Lisbeth was standing with her elbows upon the gate and her chin in her hands, staring up at the moon, and I saw that her eyes were wet with tears.
"Why, where is your cap?" she exclaimed when at last she condescended to look at me.
"On the head of an escaped convict,"