stretch, waiting for Lisbeth's chance footstep on the path and the
soft whisper of her skirts.

The French are indeed a great people, for among many other things
they alone have caught that magic sound a woman's garments make as
she walks, and given it to the world in the one word "frou-frou."

0 wondrous word! 0 word sublime! How full art thou of delicate
suggestion! Truly, there can be no sweeter sound to ears masculine
upon a golden summer afternoon - or any other time, for that matter
- than the soft "frou-frou" that tells him SHE is coming.

At this point my thoughts were interrupted by something which hurtled
through the air and splashed into the water at my feet!" Glancing
at this object, I recognised the loud-toned cricket cap affected by
the Imp, and reaching for it, I fished it out on the end of my rod!"
It was a hideous thing of red, white, blue, and green - a really
horrible affair, and therefore much prized by its owner, as I knew.

Behind me the bank rose some four or five feet, crowned with willows
and underbrush, from the other side of which there now came a
prodigious rustling and panting!" Rising to my feet therefore, I
parted the leaves with extreme care, and beheld the Imp himself.

He was armed to the teeth - that is to say, a wooden sword swung at
his thigh, a tin bugle depended from his belt, and he carried a bow
and arrow. Opposite him was another boy, particularly ragged at
knee and elbow, who stood with hands thrust into his pockets and
grinned.