E. Nesbit

“ You know I’m a witch, don’t you, Den?”
“Ah,” said Pan gloomily. “I know that well enough. But I won’t ’ave you talk about it—see? If you do I shan’t whistle for you no more—I ain’t goin’ to whistle for a witch, not even if it’s you, Miss Sandy.”
Mr. Templar was now fully awake to his own indiscretion. Yet he could not move, without deepening that indiscretion to the blackness of the chimney-back. To watch is one thing; to listen is another. A really high-souled young man would have said “Ahem,” and made his presence known, so as to be quite sure of not being an eavesdropper. ”

“ The only thing he cares for is his whistle and. . . and me.—Isn’t it, Denny?”
“You knows it is, all right,” said Denny, muffled.
“You won't tell, will you?” the girl insisted.
Templar shook his head again. He wished the child would have let him speak. He could have been so adequate, light yet deferent, condescending a little to her youth—respectful to her genius. As it was, he shook his head, then nodded. It was the best he could do.
“Thank you. That’s decent of you. And I don’t like being indebted to people. I must do something for you. Shall I tell your fortune? I always carry the cards. ”

“ Therefore Edmund Templar went down into Hampshire to see his aunt and uncle. Edmund Templar, corporal in the C.I.V.—I implore you to check your uneasy surmises. I give you my word of honour that there are no veldts or kopjes or Boers in my pages. Not an ox shall be outspanned, not a mealie baked. Have courage, and read on. There is no fighting in the story, and it all happened in England. Most of it is very romantic, and some of it is rather horrible. If Edmund Templar, who is, I scorn to deny it, my hero, goes to South Africa, he goes alone. ”

“ He could move, when he chose, as quietly as an Indian; and he chose now, so that he got nearer and nearer to the music without breaking it by any heard movement, and presently saw before him the gold of an open glade in sunlight, and knew that the musician was here. He let himself slowly down and lay under a bush; then, very slowly he reached his head forward till between the hornbeam leaves he could fully see the glade. ”

“ And the flute of Pan was a penny whistle.
Of course you guessed, as soon as I mentioned nymphs, that Mr. Templar would come upon a girl dancing in the forest. But that was just because the story is called Salome—and, of course you knew it would be about a dancer. But Mr. Templar did not know at this time that his story would be called Salome—and he was very much surprised, lying there under his bush. It is very seldom, except in novels, that people think that they “must be dreaming,” but Mr. ”

“ He did not nod there, though he wanted to.
“I could make your cows go dry, and your pigs have swine-fever, and your horses go lame and your chickens have the pip.”
He spread deprecating hands.
“But I won’t. And you won’t tell. You couldn’t—you’re a gentleman. No gentleman would be a sneak. ”