The Imp Disposes
one's legs—and he had boasted to one of his friends that he would have walked all of three miles, probably, before his return! So when Miss Eleanor stopped under the big tree, sat down, and took out a book, he groaned aloud with disgust and disappointment.
"Dear, dear!" she said, sitting back comfortably, "you sigh as if you were in love! Not that I ever knew anybody to sigh under such circumstances—it's indigestion mostly, they say. Are you in love?"
"Huh?" said the Imp inquiringly.
"Because if you are, I am sorry for you," she went on. "It's not worth it, Perry, take my word for it."
"I love cream," announced the Imp, with a reminiscent glare—it was in the matter of cream that he and the waiter had recently disagreed. Miss Eleanor laughed.
"Cream!" she said. "A good, safe object, I'm sure. Stick to it, dear, and be happy. If it isn't so exciting at first, at least it isn't horrid and troublesome at the end. It has no nasty, suspicious tempers—not that tempers are the worst things in the world. It's far worse to have them
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