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;