words of the Duchess seemed everywhere about me.

"You are become the object of her bitterest scorn by now," sobbed
the wind.

"You are become," etc., etc., moaned the river. It was therefore
with no little trepidation that I looked forward to my meeting with
Lisbeth.

It was this moment that the bushes parted and a boy appeared. He
was a somewhat diminutive boy, clad in a velvet suit with a lace
collar, both of which were plentifully bespattered with mud. He
carried his shoes and stockings beneath one arm, and in the other
hand swung a hazel branch. He stood with his little brown legs well
apart, regarding me with a critical eye; but when at length he spoke
his attitude was decidedly friendly.

"Hallo, man!"

"Hallo," I returned; "and whom may you be?"

"Well," my real name is Reginald Augustus, but they call me
'The Imp.'"

"I can well believe it," I said, eyeing his muddy person.

"If you please, what is an imp?"

"An imp is a sort of an - angel."