g some pressing engagement--he disappeared with a flash of
his white tail.

"Talking of rabbits," said I, "they are quite a pest in Australia, I
believe, and are exterminated by the thousand; I have often wondered if
a syndicate could not be formed to acquire the skins--this idea, so far
as I know, is original, but you are quite welcome to it if--"

Mr. Selwyn rose abruptly to his feet.

"I once in my boyhood possessed a rabbit--of the lop-eared variety," I
continued, "which overate itself and died. I remember I attempted to
skin it with dire results--"

"Sir." said Mr. Selwyn. "I beg to inform you that I am not interested
in rabbits, lop-eared or otherwise, nor do I propose to become so;
furthermore--"

But at this moment of my triumph, even as he turned to depart,
something small and white fluttered down from the branches above, and
the next moment Selwyn had stooped and picked up a lace handkerchief.
Then, while he stared at it and I at him, there came a ripple of
laughter and Lisbeth peered down at us through the leaves.

"My handkerchief-thank you," she said, as Selwyn stood somewhat taken
aback by her sudden appearance.

"The trees hereabouts certainly bear very remarkable, not to say
delightful fruit," he said.

"And as you will remember, I was always particularly fond of apple
trees," I interpolated.

"Mr. Selwyn," smiled Lisbeth, "let me introduce you to Mr. Brent."

"Sir," said I, "I am delighted to make your acquaintance; have heard
Her Grace of Chelsea speak of you--her friends are mine, I trust?"

Mr. Selwyn's bow was rather more than distant.

"I have already had the pleasure of meeting this--this very original
gentleman before, and under rather peculiar circumstances, Miss
Elizabeth," he said, and forthwith plunged into an account of the whole
affair of the "ambushes," while Lisbeth, perched upon her lofty throne,
surveyed us with an ever-growing astonishment.

"Whatever does it all mean?" she inquired as Mr. Selwyn made an end.

"You must know, then," I explained, leaning upon my quarter-staff, "the
Imp took it into his head to become Robin Hood; I was Little-John, and
Mr. Selwyn here was so very obliging as to enact the role of Sheriff
of Nottingham--"

"I beg your pardon," exclaimed Mr. Selwyn indignantly, turning upon me
with a fiery eye.

"Every one recollects the immortal exploits of Robin and his 'merrie
men,'" I continued, "and you will, of course, remember that they had a