"Hist!"
A small shape flittered from behind an adjacent tree, and lo! the subject of my thoughts stood before me.
"Imp," I said, "come here." He obeyed readily. "When you cut that rope and set your Auntie Lisbeth adrift, you didn't remember the man who was drowned in the weir last month, did you?"
"No!" he answered, staring.
"Of course not," I nodded; "but all the same it is not your fault that your Auntie Lisbeth is not drowned--just as he was."
"Oh!" exclaimed the Imp, and his beloved bow slipped from his nerveless fingers.
"Imp," I went on, "it was a wicked thing to cut that rope, a mean, cruel trick. Don't you think so?"
"I 'specks it was, Uncle Dick."
"Don't you think you ought to be punished?" He nodded. "Very well," I answered, "I'll punish you myself. Go and cut me a nice, straight switch," and I handed him my open penknife. Round-eyed, the Imp obeyed, and for a space there was a prodigious cracking and snapping of sticks. In a little while he returned with three, also the blade of my knife was broken, for which he was profusely apologetic.
"Now," I said, as I selected the weapon fittest for the purpose, "I am going to strike you hard on either hand with this stick--that is, if you think you deserve it."