Her head was drooping, and she walked with a listless air. Now, as I watched I forgot everything but that she looked sad, and troubled, and more beautiful than ever, and that I loved her. Instinctively I rose, lifting my cap. She started, and for the fraction of a second her eyes looked into mine, then she passed serenely on her way. I might have been a stick or stone for all the further notice she bestowed.
Side by side, the Imp and I watched her go, until the last gleam of her white skirt had vanished amid the green. Then he folded his arms and turned to me.
"So be it!" he said, with an air of stern finality; "an' now, what is a 'blasted oak,' please?"
"A blasted oak?" I repeated.
"If you please, Uncle Dick."
"Well, it's an oak-tree that has been struck by lightning."
"Like the one with the 'stickie-out' branches, where I once hid Auntie Lis--Her stockings?"
I nodded, and, sitting down, began to pack up my fishing-rod and things.
"I'm glad of that," pursued the Imp thoughtfully. "Robin Hood was always saying to somebody, 'Hie thee to the blasted oak at midnight!' an' it's nice to have one handy, you know."
I only said "Yes," and sighed.