The Imp folded his arms and regarded me with a terrific frown. "It's all the fault of my Auntie Lisbeth'!" he said in a tragic voice.
"Sit down, my Imp, and tell me all about it."
"Well," he began laying aside his 'trusty sword,' and seating himself at my elbow, "she got awfull' angry with me yesterday, awfull' angry, indeed, an' she wouldn't play with me or anything; an' when I tried to be friends with her an' asked her to pretend she was a hippopotamus, 'cause I was a mighty hunter, you know, she just said, 'Reginald, go away an' don't bother me!'
"You surprise me, Imp!"
"But that's not the worst of it," he continued, shaking his head gloomily; "she didn't come to 'tuck me up' an' kiss me good-night like she always does. I lay awake hours an' hours waiting for her, you know; but she never came, an' so I've left her!"
"Left her!" I repeated.
"For ever an' ever!" he said, nodding a stern brow. "I 'specks she'll be awfull' sorry some day!"
"But where shall you go to?"
"I'm thinking of Persia!" he said darkly.
"Oh!"