A great pollard oak it was, standing upon the very edge of the stream, easily distinguishable by its unusual size and the fact that at some time or another it had been riven by lightning. After all, the Imp's description had been in the main correct; it was "fat," immensely fat; and I hurried joyfully forward.
I was still some way off when I saw the distinct flutter of a white skirt, and--yes, sure enough, there was Lisbeth, walking quickly, too, and she was a great deal nearer the tree than I.
Prompted by a sudden conviction I dropped my rod and began to run. Immediately Lisbeth began running too. I threw away my creel and sprinted for all I was worth. I had earned some small fame at this sort of thing in my university days, yet I arrived at the tree with only a very few yards to spare. Throwing myself upon my knees, I commenced a feverish search, and presently--more by good fortune than anything else--my random fingers encountered a soft silken bundle. When Lisbeth came up, flushed and panting, I held them in my hands.
"Give them to me!" she cried.
"I'm sorry----"
"Please," she begged.
"I'm very sorry----"
"Mr. Brent," said Lisbeth, drawing herself up, "I'll trouble you for my--them."
"Pardon me, Lisbeth," I answered, "but if I remember anything of the law of 'treasure-trove' one of these should go to the Crown, and one belongs to me."
Lisbeth grew quite angry--one of her few bad traits.