The Imp Disposes
Whatever you were that was—was not nice, I made you be. It was my fault."
"Then—then—" the man stopped. He seemed to expect some remark, but none was forthcoming. Miss Eleanor patted the Imp's brown little hand and stared at the rod.
"Won't you be wanting your dinner?" asked the man abruptly, stooping down and lifting the Imp bodily from the ground. Grasping his rod the Imp started to explain that he would wait for Miss Eleanor, but when he looked around before resuming his seat beside her, it was gone.
"And when you do go," continued the man easily, "don't say anything about where we are, or anything at all, in fact," he concluded sweepingly. "Can you keep a secret?"
"I'll have to tell my mother about the rod," the the Imp demurred.
"Oh, tell your nice mother about it all," said Miss Eleanor—"I mean," she added, "I mean—" the man caught her hand.
"Good-by!" he called to the Imp, "hurry up, or they'll be through dinner—good-by!"
"But she wants her dinner, too," began the Imp doubtfully. "I can wait a little longer—"
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