"As to that," I said, shaking my head and sighing, "appearances are often very deceptive; at the heart of many a fair blossom there is a canker worm." 

 "I'm awfull' fond of worms, too," said the Imp. 

 "Indeed?" 

 "Yes. I got a pocketful yesterday, only Aunty found out an' made me let them all go again." 

 "Ah—yes," I said sympathetically; "that was the woman of it." 

 "I've only got one left now," continued the Imp; and thrusting a hand into the pocket of his knickerbockers he drew forth six inches or so of slimy worm and held it out to me upon his small, grimy palm. 

 "He's nice and fat!" I said. 

 "Yes," nodded the Imp; "I caught him under the gooseberry bushes;" and dropping it back into his pocket he proceeded to don his shoes and stockings. 

 "Fraid I'm a bit muddy," he said suddenly. 

 "Oh, you might be worse," I answered reassuringly. 

 "Do you think they'll notice it?" he inquired, contorting himself horribly in order to view the small of his back. 

 "Well," I hesitated, "it all depends, you know." 

 "I don't mind Dorothy, or Betty the cook, or the governess—it's Auntie Lisbeth I'm thinking about." 

 "Auntie—who?" I exclaimed, regardless of grammar. 

 "Auntie Lisbeth," repeated the Imp. 

 "What is she like?" 

 "Oh, she's grown up big, only she's nice. She came to take care of Dorothy an' me while mother goes away to get nice an strong—oh Auntie Lisbeth's jolly, you know." 

 "With black hair and blue eyes?" 

 The Imp nodded. 

 "And a dimple at the corner of her mouth?" I went on dreamily—"a dimple that would lead a man to the—Old Gentleman himself." 

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