The hunting-crop hesitated and was lowered.

“Well, sir?”

“Ah, I thought so,” I said, bowing; “permit me to trespass upon your generosity to the extent of a match - or, say, a couple.”

Mr. Selwyn remained staring down at me for a moment, and I saw the points of his moustache positively curling with indignation. Then, without deigning a reply, he turned on his heel and strode away. He had not gone more than thirty or forty paces, however, when I heard him stop and swear savagely - I did not need to look to learn the reason - I admit I chuckled. But my merriment was short-lived, for a moment later came the feeble squeak of a horn followed by a shout and the Imp’s voice upraised in dire distress.

“Little-John! Little-John! to the rescue!” it called.

I hesitated, for I will freely confess that when I had made that promise to the Imp it was with small expectation that I should be called upon to fulfil it. Still, a promise is a promise: so I sighed, and picking up the joint of my fishing rod, clambered up the bank. Glancing in the direction of the cries, I beheld Robin Hood struggling in the foe’s indignant grasp.

Now, there were but two methods of procedure open to me as I could see - the serious or the frankly grotesque. Naturally I chose the latter, and quarter-staff on shoulder, I swaggered down the path with an air that Little-John himself might well have envied.

“Beshrew me!” I cried, confronting the amazed Mr. Selwyn, “who dares lay hands on bold Robin Hood? - away, base rogue, hie thee hence or I am like to fetch thee a dour ding on that pate o’ thine!”

Mr. Selwyn loosed the Imp and stared at me in speechless astonishment, as well he might.

“Look ye, master,” I continued, entering into the spirit of the thing, “no man lays hand on Robin Hood whiles Little-John can twirl a staff or draw a bow-string - no, by St. Cuthbert!”

The Imp, retired to a safe distance, stood hearkening in a transport till, bethinking him of his part, he fished out the tattered book and began surreptitiously turning over the pages; as for Mr. Selwyn, he only fumbled at his moustache and stared.

“Aye, but I know thee,” I went on again, “by thy sly and crafty look, by thy scallopped cape and chain of office, I know thee for that same Sheriff of Nottingham that hath sworn to our undoing. Go to! didst’ think to take Robin - in the greenwood? Out upon thee! Thy years should have taught thee better wisdom. Out upon thee!”

“Now will I feed” - began the Imp, with the book carefully held behind him, “now will I feed fat mine vengeance - to thy knees for a scurvy rascal!”

“Aye, by St. Benedict!” I nodded, “twere well he should do penance on his marrow-bones from hither to Nottingham Town; but as thou art strong - be merciful, Robin.”

Mr. Selwyn still curled the point of his moustache.

“Are you mad,” he inquired, “or only drunk?”

“As to that, good master Sheriff, it doth concern thee nothing - but mark you! ‘tis an ill thing to venture within the greenwood whiles Robin Hood and Little-John he abroad.”

Mr. Selwyn shrugged his shoulders and turned to the Imp.

“I am on my way to see your Aunt Elizabeth, and shall make it my particular care to inform her of your conduct, and to see that you are properly punished. As for you, sir,” he continued, addressing me, “I shall inform the police that there is a madman at large.”

At this double-barrelled threat the Imp was plainly much dismayed, and coming up beside me, slipped his hand into mine, and I promptly pocketed it.

“Sweet master Sheriff,” I said, sweeping off my cap in true outlaw fashion, “the way is long and something lonely; methinks - we will therefore e’en accompany you, and may perchance lighten the tedium with quip and quirk and a merry stave or so.”

Seeing the angry rejoinder upon Mr. Selwyn’s lips, I burst forth incontinent into the following ditty, the words extemporised to the tune of “Bonnie Dundee”:

There lived a sheriff in Nottinghamshire, With a hey derry down and a down; He was fond of good beef, but was fonder of beer, With a hey derry down and a down

By the time we reached the Shrubbery gate the imp was in an ecstasy and Mr. Selwyn once more reduced to speechless indignation and astonishment. Here our ways diverged, Mr. Selwyn turning toward the house, while the Imp and I made our way to the orchard at the rear.

“Uncle Dick,” he said, halting suddenly, “do you think he will tell - really?”

“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 brand-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’d better hurry off.”

He obeyed with alacrity, disappearing in the direction of the village, while I went on toward 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 positively delicious foot it was, too, small and shapely, that swung audaciously to and fro; a foot in a ridiculously out-of-place little patent-leather shoe, with a sheen of slender silken ankle above.

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.

“Oh, it’s you?” she said, and I fancied she seemed quite pleased. “You’ll find a step-ladder somewhere about - it can’t be very far.”

“Thanks,” I answered, “but I don’t want one.”

“No; but I do; I want to get down. That little wretched Imp hid the ladder, and I’ve been here all the afternoon,” she wailed.

“But then you refused to be an elephant, you know,” I reminded her.

“He shall go to bed for it - directly after tea!” she said.

“Lisbeth,” I returned, “I firmly believe your nature to be altogether too sweet and forgiving - “

“I want to come down !”

“Certainly,” I said; “put your left foot in my right hand, take firm hold of the branch above and let yourself sink gently into my arms.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed suddenly, “here’s Mr. Selwyn coming,” and following her glance, I saw a distant Panama approaching.

“Lisbeth,” said I, “are you anxious to see him?”

“In this ridiculous situation - of course not!”

“Very well then, hide - just sit there and leave matters to me and - “

“Hush,” she whispered, and at that moment Selwyn emerged into full view. Catching sight of me he stopped in evident surprise.

“I was told I should find Miss Elizabeth here,” he said stiffly.

“It would almost appear that you had been misinformed,” I answered. For a moment he seemed undecided what to do. Would he go away? I wondered. Evidently not, for after glancing about him he sat himself down upon a rustic seat near-by with a certain resolute air that I did not like. I must get rid of him at all hazards.

“Sir,” said I, “can I trespass on your generosity to the extent of a match or say a couple?” After a brief hesitation he drew out a very neat silver matchbox, which he handed to me.

“A fine day, sir?” I said, puffing at my pipe.

Mr. Selwyn made no reply.

“I hear that the crops are looking particularly healthy this year,” I went on.

Mr. Selwyn appeared to be utterly lost in the contemplation of an adjacent tree.

“To my mind an old apple tree is singularly picturesque,” I began again, nice nobbly branches, don’t you know.”

Mr. Selwyn began to fidget.

“And then,” I pursued, “they tell me that apples are so good for the blood.”

Mr. Selwyn shifted his gaze to the toe of his riding boot, and for a space there was silence, so much so, indeed, that an inquisitive rabbit crept up and sat down to watch us with much interest, until - evidently remembering some pressing engagement - he disappeared with a flash of his white tail.

“Talking of rabbits,” said I, “they are quite a pest in Australia, I believe, and are exterminated by the thousand; I have often wondered if a syndicate could not be formed to acquire the skins - this idea, so far as I know, is original, but you are quite welcome to it if - “

Mr. Selwyn rose abruptly to his feet.

“I once in my boyhood possessed a rabbit - of the lop-eared variety,” I continued, “which overate itself and died. I remember I attempted to skin it with dire results - “

“Sir.” said Mr. Selwyn. “I beg to inform you that I am not interested in rabbits, lop-eared or otherwise, nor do I propose to become so; furthermore - “

But at this moment of my triumph, even as he turned to depart, something small and white fluttered down from the branches above, and the next moment Selwyn had stooped and picked up a lace handkerchief. Then, while he stared at it and I at him, there came a ripple of laughter and Lisbeth peered down at us through the leaves.

“My handkerchief-thank you,” she said, as Selwyn stood somewhat taken aback by her sudden appearance.

“The trees hereabouts certainly bear very remarkable, not to say delightful fruit,” he said.

“And as you will remember, I was always particularly fond of apple trees,” I interpolated.

“Mr. Selwyn,” smiled Lisbeth, “let me introduce you to Mr. Brent.” “Sir,” said I, “I am delighted to make your acquaintance; have heard Her Grace of Chelsea speak of you - her friends are mine, I trust?”

Mr. Selwyn’s bow was rather more than distant.

“I have already had the pleasure of meeting this - this very original gentleman before, and under rather peculiar circumstances, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, and forthwith plunged into an account of the whole affair of the “ambushes,” while Lisbeth, perched upon her lofty throne, surveyed us with an ever-growing astonishment.

“Whatever does it all mean ?” she inquired as Mr. Selwyn made an end.

“You must know, then,” I explained, leaning upon my quarter-staff, “the Imp took it into his head to become Robin Hood; I was Little-John, and Mr. Selwyn here was so very obliging as to enact the role of Sheriff of Nottingham - “

“I beg your pardon,” exc1aimed Mr. Selwyn indignantly, turning upon me with a fiery eye.

“Every one recollects the immortal exploits of Robin and his ‘merrie men,’” I continued, “and you will, of course, remember that they had a habit of capturing the sheriff and tying him up to trees and things. Naturally the Imp did not proceed to that extreme. He contented himself with merely capturing the Sheriff’s hat - I think that you will agree that those ‘ambushes’ worked line a charm, Mr. Selwyn?”

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, disdaining any reply, “I am aware of the af - affection you lavish upon your nephew; I hope that you will take measures to restrain him from such pranks - such very disgraceful pranks - in the future. I myself should suggest a change of companionship [here he glanced at me] as the most salutary method. Good-afternoon, Miss Elizabeth.” So saying, Mr. Selwyn raised his hat, bowed stiffly to me, and turning upon an indignant heel, strode haughtily away.

“Well!” exclaimed Lisbeth, with a look of very real concern.

“Very well, indeed!” I nodded; “we are alone at last.”

“Oh, Dick! but to have offended him like this!”

“A highly estimable young gentleman,” I said, “though deplorably lacking in that saving sense of humour which - “

“Aunt Agatha seems to think a great deal of him.”

“So I understand,” I nodded.

“Only this morning I received a letter from her, in which, among other things, she pointed out what a very excellent match h would be.”

“And what do you think?”

“Oh, I agree with her, of course; his family dates back ages and ages before the Conqueror, and he has two or three estates besides Selwyn Park, and one in Scotland.”

“Do you know, Lisbeth, that reminds me of another house - not at all big or splendid, but of great age; a house which stands not far from the village of Down, in Kent; a house which is going to rack and ruin for want of a mistress. Sometimes, just as evening comes on, I think it must dream of the light feet and gentle hands it has known so many years ago, and feels its loneliness more than ever.”