"My dear Imp," I answered, "a man who wears 'points on his moustache' is capable of anything."
"Then I shall be sent to bed for it, I know I shall!"
"To run into a thread tied across the path must have been very annoying," I said, shaking my head thoughtfully, "especially with a bran-new hat!"
"They were only 'ambushes,' you know, Uncle Dick."
"To be sure," I nodded. "Now, observe, my Imp, here is a shilling; go and buy that spring-pistol you were speaking of, and take your time about it; I'll see what can be done in the meanwhile."
The Imp was reduced to incoherent thanks.
"That's all right," I said, "but you had better hurry off."
He obeyed with alacrity, disappearing in the direction of the village, while I went on towards the orchard to find Lisbeth. And presently, sure enough, I did find her--that is to say, part of her, for the foliage of that particular tree happened to be very thick, and I could see nothing of her but a foot.
A small and shapely foot it was that swung audaciously to and fro; a foot in a ridiculously out-of-place little patent-leather shoe.
I approached softly, with the soul of me in my eyes, so to speak, yet, despite my caution, she seemed to become aware of my presence in some way--the foot faltered in its swing and vanished as the leaves were parted, and Lisbeth looked down at me.