"Along the river," I repeated, "in a big, fat tree with a lot of
stickie-out branches!" It sounded a trifle indefinite, I thought
- still I could but try. So having packed up my rod I set out
upon the search.
It was strange, perhaps, but nearly every tree I saw seemed to be
either "big" or "fat" - and all of them had "stickie-out" branches.
Thus the sun was already low in the west, and I was lighting my
fifth pipe when I at length observed the tree in question.
A great pollard oak it was, standing upon the very edge of the
stream, easily distinguishable by its unusual size and the fact
that at some time or another it had been riven by lightning. After
all, the Imp's description had been in the main correct; it was "fat,"
immensely fat: and I hurried joyfully forward.
I was still some way off when I saw the distant flutter of a white
skirt, and - yes, sure enough, there was Lisbeth, walking quickly too,
and she was a great deal nearer the tree than I.
Prompted by a sudden conviction, I dropped my rod and began to run.
Immediately Lisbeth began running, too.
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