The Imp nodded. "It was yesterday," he continued. "He came to see Auntie Lisbeth, an' I found them in the summer-house in the orchard. An' I heard him say, 'Miss Elizbeth, you're prettier than ever!"
"Did he though, confound him!"
"Yes, an then Auntie Lisbeth looked silly, an' then he saw me behind a tree an' he looked silly, too, Then he said, 'Come here, little man!' An' I went, you know, though I do hate to be called 'little man.' Then he said he'd give me a shilling if I'd call him Uncle Frank."
"And what did you answer?"
"'Fraid I'm awfull' wicked," sighed the Imp, shaking his head, "'cause I told him a great big lie."
"Did you, Imp?"
"Yes. I said I didn't want his shilling, an' I do, you know, most awfully, to buy a spring pistol with."
"Oh, well, we'll see what can be done about the spring pistol," I answered. "And so you don't like him, eh?"
"Should think not," returned the Imp promptly. "He's always so—so awfull' clean, an' wears a little moustache with teeny sharp points on it.
"Any one who does that deserves all he gets," I said, shaking my head. "And what is his name?"