"Should think not," he returned; "silly things, girls are. There's Dorothy, you know; we were playing at executions the other day--she was Mary Queen of Scots an' I was the headsman. I made a lovely axe with wood and silver paper, you know; an' when I cut her head off she cried awfully, an' I only gave her the weeniest little tap--an' they sent me to bed at six o'clock for it. I believe she cried on purpose--awfully caddish, wasn't it?"
"My dear Imp," said I, "the older you grow the more the depravity of the sex will become apparent to you."
"Do you know, I like you," he said, regarding me thoughtfully. "I think you are fine."
"Now that's very nice of you, Imp; in common with my kind I have a weakness for flattery--please go on."
"I mean, I think you are jolly."
"As to that," I said, shaking my head and sighing, "appearances are often very deceptive; at the heart of many a fair blossom there is a canker-worm."
"I'm awfull' fond of worms, too," said the Imp.
"Indeed?"
"Yes. I got a pocketful yesterday, only Auntie found out an' made me let them all go again."
"Ah--yes," I said sympathetically; "that was the woman of it."