Her head was drooping and she walked with a listless air. Now, as
I watched I forgot everything but that she looked sad, and troubled,
and more beautiful than ever, and that I loved her. Instinctively
I rose, lifting my cap. She started, and for the fraction of a
second her eyes looked into mine, then she passed serenely on her
way. I might have been a stick or stone for all the further notice
she bestowed.
Side by side, the Imp and I watched her go, until the last gleam of
her white skirt had vanished amid the green. Then he folded his
arms and turned to me.
"So be it!" he said, with an air of stern finality; "an' now, what
is a 'blasted oak,' please?"
"A blasted oak!" I repeated.
"If you please, Uncle Dick."
"'Well, it's an oak-tree that has been struck by lightning."
"Like the one with the 'stickie-out' branches, where I once hid
Auntie Lis - Her stockings?"
I nodded, and sitting down, began to pack up my fishing rod and
things.
"I'm glad of that," pursued the Imp thoughtfully. "Robin Hood was
always saying to somebody, 'Hie thee to the blasted oak at midnight!'
an' it's nice to have one handy, you know.
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