The Imp and the Author
The Imp looked puzzled.
"Have you got a little boy," he inquired doubtfully, "that stayed away all night?"
The Author laughed, but not happily.
"Yes," he said, "just so. I've got a little boy that stays away all night. So you see I know how they'll feel, when you do."
The Imp pondered.
"Does it make you feel bad? Do you feel real scared about him?" he asked in an awed tone.
For the Author's face was unspeakably sad, his mouth was bent sternly.
"He is breaking my heart," he said.
The Imp pulled himself across the sand and laid his hand on his friend's knee. He would have been glad to say something, but he was only seven, so he knew enough to keep still.
After a long pause an idea suddenly occurred to him, and with a startling imitation of one of his mother's friends, he asked earnestly, "Have you tried keeping him in afternoons?"
The Author jumped, stared at him, and laughed again.
"Bless your heart!" he said softly, "I'm afraid that wouldn't do."
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