"Forgive you?" she cried, and, falling on her knees, gathered him in her arms.
"I'm glad I didn't go to Persia, after all, Uncle Dick," he said over her shoulder.
"Oh yes; you were so angry with Uncle Dick an' me--so frightfull' angry, you know, that I was going to try to find the 'wonderful lamp' so I could wish everything all right again an' all of us 'live happy ever after'; but the blasted oak did just as well, an' was nicer, somehow, wasn't it?"
"An' you will never be angry with Uncle Dick or me any more, will you, Auntie--that is, not frightfull' angry, you know?"
"On my honour!" she repeated, smiling, but there were tears in her voice.
Very gravely the Imp drew his "trusty sword," which she, following his instructions, obediently kissed.
"And now," cried he, "we are all happy again, aren't we?"
"More happy than I ever hoped or dreamed to be," answered Lisbeth, still upon her knees; "and oh, Imp--dear little Imp, come and kiss me."
Surely there never was and never could be such another morning as this? Ever since the first peep of dawn a blackbird had been singing to me from the fragrant syringa-bush that blossomed just beneath my window. Each morning I had wakened to the joyous melody of his golden song. But to-day the order was reversed. I had sat there at my open casement, breathing the sweet purity of the morning, watching the eastern sky turn slowly from pearl-grey to saffron and from saffron to deepest crimson, until at last the new-risen sun had filled all the world with his glory. And then this blackbird of mine had begun--very hoarse at first, trying a note now and then in a tentative sort of fashion, as though still drowsy and not quite sure of himself, but little by little his notes had grown longer, richer, mellower, until here he was pouring out his soul in an ecstasy.
Ah! surely there never was, there never could be, such another morning as this!
Out of the green twilight of the woods a gentle wind was blowing, laden with the scent of earth and hidden flowers. Dewdrops twinkled in the grass and hung glistening from every leaf and twig, and beyond all was the sheen of the murmurous river.
The blackbird was in full song now, and by degrees others joined in--thrush, and lark, and linnet, with the humbler voices of the farmyard--until the sunny air was vibrant with the chorus.