The Imp and the Angel
she said. "You know, he is not strong," turning to the Imp's mother, who looked pityingly at the white-faced little fellow in the long, tight trousers, and gave the Imp an extra kiss as he hopped down the steps.
"Back for dinner!" she called after him, and he waved the shovel to show her he understood, and made for a secluded corner of the beach, where his greatest achievement in the line of forts was rising proudly to its third story.
Tracy Mclntyre, a very good boy in his way, though a little domineering, turned up before long, and they pottered away at the fort, and buried themselves to the waist in the cool, damp sand, and squabbled a little and made it up again, and dared each other to venture out farther and farther (without wetting the small rolled-up trousers), until finally an unexpected wave, a little bigger and wetter than its brothers, soaked them both to the waist, and they retreated into the fort, squealing with terror and delight. At this point, three shrill notes on a dog-whistle summoned Tracy back, and the Imp went with him, partly for company, partly because the wave had left him feeling rather damp and sticky. It was later than
4
