The Imp Disposes
and control them. To be sarcastic and cool—Oh, so cool!"
"Ice-cream is cold," said the Imp argumentatively, "dreadful cold. But I love it, just the same. I love it more. It stings my eyes and aches my nose—the top part—and I us'ally scream right out. We have it here quite often, don't we?"
"Coldness is all very well in ice-cream, but very different in—in other things one likes—has liked," Miss Eleanor continued decidedly. "You aren't blamed if it is cold. You aren't informed that so long as you act as—as you do act it will continue to be cold—as if you were a child of twelve! If ice-cream is cold, it's not your fault."
"'Tis too," rejoined the Imp stubbornly, "if you freeze it! It don't freeze itself, does it?"
"Ah!" said Miss Eleanor softly, "Ah-h!" as if it hurt her to breathe.
"Let it alone, if you don't want it to freeze," pursued the Imp instinctively. He had no idea what they were talking about, but he was not by way of analyzing conversational plans; he took sentences as he found them. Indeed, experience had taught him that this was his only
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