The Imp and the Author
an' I said I would—an'—an' I did, an' they didn't know what to do, an' m' faver said, 'I'll make him say he's sorry,' an' I wouldn't, an' I wouldn't, an' I didn't...."
He was drifting off fast. The Author drew a long breath.
"Oh, yes," he said, so low that the Imp hardly heard his voice, "but there's nothing I haven't tried—short of killing him Nothing shames him—nothing!"
He squeezed the Imp so hard that he started in confusion, and vaguely took up his tale:
"So he came. An' he said, 'I didn't think—think you'd do it, Boy!' an' an'.... I said.... sorry.... bad.... any more...."
The Imp was fast asleep.
The Author sat motionless and held him fast. The warm little body relaxed against his arm; the heavy head, brown, cropped, and sunburnt, fell on his shoulder. The Author looked at him as if he saw something else.
"My God!" he whispered, "to think what he is now!"
The sun was turning slowly to the west. The shadow of the rock crept farther along. An
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