"I've had no cause to," I answered; "you see, I am guilty of such things only when life assumes a grey monotony of hue and everything is a flat, dreary desolation. Do you understand, Imp?"
"Not 'zackly—but it sounds fine! Auntie Lisbeth," he said suddenly, as we paused at the Shrubbery gate, "don't you think my outlaw must be very, very fond of Uncle Dick to kiss his hand?"
"Why, of course he must," nodded Lisbeth.
"If," he went on thoughtfully, "if you loved somebody—very much—would you kiss their hand, Auntie Lisbeth?"
"I don't know—of course not!"
"But why not—s'posing their hand was nice an' clean?"
"Oh, well—really I don't know. Imp, run along to bed; do."
"You know now that I wasn't such a pig as to eat all that food, don't you?" Lisbeth kissed him.
"Now be off to bed with you."
"You'll come an' tuck me up, an' kiss me good-night, won't you?"