Well, I have seen my wood-sprite again, this very morning. I could not sleep after six, although I twice covered up my head with the bed-clothes and made believe I was not awake; so I got up, and the young sun was so beautiful, driving the mists out of the valley, that I went out.
Between the flower garden and the park, there lies a shrubbery; green paths wind in and out between high walls of box and laurel, leading one at length to a little blue door in an old wall. Well, I was stepping along between the evergreens as fast as the moss on the pebbles would let me, swinging my hat round as I went, and singing loudly, when I thought I heard footsteps round the bend of the path. I turned the corner—nobody; only a little scrambling sound, and the treacherous flutter of a branch in the laurel hedge. Of course I immediately thought of poachers, and in my imagination already saw Emilia Fletcher stretched a lifeless corpse upon the ground. I took three backward steps, then paused. Silence and stillness reigned.
Pooh! thought I, it’s nothing, and with a bold, swift step I walked past the fearful spot. No sooner had I passed than there came another crackle; I turned and beheld a luminous eye between the branches. Whether I turned pale with fright or not, I cannot tell; but a hand came forth, a foot, then, with considerable difficulty, an entire body; and on the path before me stood my dishevelled friend, covered with green dust and blushes.
“I have no excuse to offer,” said he.
I laughed; there was nothing else to do.
“You did startle me,” said I, “but I forgive you.”
I did not ask him what he was doing in my shrubbery, nor did he offer the least explanation.
“Are you going for a walk?” said he, simply, “and, if so, may I go with you?”
I was glad enough, and we had taken a few steps forward when he suddenly clapped his hands to his pockets.
“I shall have to get into the bush again,” he cried, with rueful face; “I must have dropped ‘Peer Gynt.’”