"You did startle me," said I, "but I forgive you."
I did not ask him what he was doing in my shrubbery, nor did he
offer the least explanation.
"Are you going for a walk?" said he, simply, "and, if so, may I go
with you?"
I was glad enough, and we had taken a few steps forward when he
suddenly clapped his hands to his pockets.
"I shall have to get into the bush again," he cried, with rueful
face; "I must have dropped 'Peer Gynt.'"
And in he scrambled, returning triumphant with an exceedingly shabby
book.
We walked a full hour and a half, through the park, through the
woods, and through the park again, for he insisted on bringing me
back to the little blue door. We talked mostly about "Peer Gynt,"
which, by the way, he is reading in the original. He seems to read
every possible language, although he declares he speaks nothing but
English. We did not talk at all about ourselves, so I know nothing
further about him, save that he lives in a cottage on the heath
towards Miltonhoe, with his father and his aunt.
When we parted company, he asked me if I would mind going to see his
aunt.
"I believe," said he, "that she ought to call first on you,--at
least, she says so,--but that she'll never do. If I landed her at
your very door, she'd never find courage to ring the bell."
"Very well," said I; "I'll come to her instead."
And the sprite vanished.