Part 12 (1/2)

”No,” she said, ”I am very angry with you.”

”Why?”

”You know well enough.”

”Upon my honour, I do not.”

”What?” cried the lady. ”You profess ignorance, when he distinctly said----”

”Pardon,” said the man; ”but _who_ said?”

”Your unruly sprite,” she answered, indignant. ”He came last night outside my window, which was wide open for the moon, and shot an arrow into my breast--a little baby arrow, but it hurt. And when I cried out for the pain, he climbed up to me and kissed the place, saying that would make it well. And he swore that you made him promise to come. If that is true, I will never speak to you again.”

”Then of course,” said the man, ”it is not true. And now what do you want me to do with this unruly sprite?”

”Get rid of him,” said she firmly.

”I will,” replied the man, and he bowed over her hand and went away.

He stayed for a long time--nearly a week--and when he came back he brought several sad verses with him to read. ”They are very dull,”

said the lady; ”what is the matter with you?” He confessed that he did not know, and began to talk learnedly about the Greek and Persian poets, until the lady was consumed with a fever of dullness.

”You are simply impossible!” she cried. ”I wonder at myself for having chosen such a friend!”

”I am sorry indeed,” said the man.

”For what?”

”For having disappointed you as a friend, and also for having lost my dear unruly sprite who kept me from being dull.”

”Lost him!” exclaimed the lady. ”How?”

”By now,” said the man, ”he must be quite dead, for I tied him to a tree in the forest five days ago and left him to starve.”

”You are a brute,” said the lady, ”and a very stupid man. Come, take me to the tree. At least we can bury the poor sprite, and then we shall part forever.”

So he took her by the hand and guided her through the woods, and they talked much of the sadness of parting forever.

When they came to the tree, there was the little sprite, with his wrists and ankles bound, lying upon the moss. His eyes were closed, and his body was white as a snowdrop. They knelt down, one on each side of him, and untied the cord. To their surprise his hands felt warm. ”I believe he is not quite dead,” said the lady. ”Shall we try to bring him to life?” asked the man. And with that they fell to chafing his wrists and his palms. Presently he gave each of them a slight pressure of the fingers.

”Did you feel that?” cried she.

”Indeed I did,” the man answered. ”It shook me to the core. Would you like to take him on your lap so that I can chafe his feet?”

The lady nodded and took the soft little body on her knees and held it close to her, while the man kneeled before her rubbing the small, milk-white feet with strong and tender touches. Presently, as they were thus engaged, they heard the sprite faintly whispering, while one of his eyelids flickered:

”I think--if each of you--would kiss me--on opposite cheeks--at the same moment--those kind of movements would revive me.”