"He doesn't like snakes!" she said, in a stage whisper."Now, isn't that an unreasonable aversion? Fancy not liking such a dear, coaxingly, clingingly affectionate creature as a snake!""Not like snakes!" I exclaimed."Is such a thing possible?""No, he doesn't like them," she repeated with a pretty mock-gravity.
"He's not afraid of them, you know.But he doesn't like them.
He says they're too waggly!"
I was more startled than I liked to show.There was something so uncanny in this echo of the very words I had so lately heard from that little forest-sprite, that it was only by a great effort I succeeded in saying, carelessly, "Let us banish so unpleasant a topic.Won't you sing us something, Lady Muriel? I know you do sing without music.""The only songs I know--without music--are desperately sentimental, I'm afraid! Are your tears all ready?""Quite ready! Quite ready!" came from all sides, and Lady Muriel--not being one of those lady-singers who think it de rigueur to decline to sing till they have been petitioned three or four times, and have pleaded failure of memory, loss of voice, and other conclusive reasons for silence--began at once:--[Image...'Three badgers on a mossy stone']
"There be three Badgers on a mossy stone, Beside a dark and covered way:
Each dreams himself a monarch on his throne, And so they stay and stay Though their old Father languishes alone, They stay, and stay, and stay.
"There be three Herrings loitering around, Longing to share that mossy seat:
Each Herring tries to sing what she has found That makes Life seem so sweet.
Thus, with a grating and uncertain sound, They bleat, and bleat, and bleat, "The Mother-Herring, on the salt sea-wave, Sought vainly for her absent ones:
The Father-Badger, writhing in a cave, Shrieked out ' Return, my sons!
You shalt have buns,' he shrieked,' if you'll behave!
Yea, buns, and buns, and buns!'
"'I fear,' said she, 'your sons have gone astray?
My daughters left me while I slept.'
'Yes 'm,' the Badger said: 'it's as you say.'
'They should be better kept.'
Thus the poor parents talked the time away, And wept, and wept, and wept."Here Bruno broke off suddenly."The Herrings' Song wants anuvver tune, Sylvie," he said."And I ca'n't sing it not wizout oo plays it for me!"[Image...'Three badgers, writhing in a cave']
Instantly Sylvie seated herself upon a tiny mushroom, that happened to grow in front of a daisy, as if it were the most ordinary musical instrument in the world, and played on the petals as if they were the notes of an organ.And such delicious tiny music it was!
Such teeny-tiny music!
Bruno held his head on one side, and listened very gravely for a few moments until he had caught the melody.Then the sweet childish voice rang out once more:--"Oh, dear beyond our dearest dreams, Fairer than all that fairest seems!
To feast the rosy hours away, To revel in a roundelay!
How blest would be A life so free---
Ipwergis-Pudding to consume, And drink the subtle Azzigoom!
"And if in other days and hours, Mid other fluffs and other flowers, The choice were given me how to dine---'Name what thou wilt: it shalt be thine!'
Oh, then I see The life for me Ipwergis-Pudding to consume, And drink the subtle Azzigoom!""Oo may leave off playing now, Sylvie.I can do the uvver tune much better wizout a compliment.""He means 'without accompaniment,'" Sylvie whispered, smiling at my puzzled look: and she pretended to shut up the stops of the organ.
"The Badgers did not care to talk to Fish:
They did not dote on Herrings' songs:
They never had experienced the dish To which that name belongs:
And oh, to pinch their tails,' (this was their wish,)'With tongs, yea, tongs, and tongs!'"
I ought to mention that he marked the parenthesis, in the air, with his finger.It seemed to me a very good plan.You know there's no sound to represent it--any more than there is for a question.
Suppose you have said to your friend "You are better to-day," and that you want him to understand that you are asking him a question, what can be ******r than just to make a "?".in the air with your finger?
He would understand you in a moment!
[Image...'Those aged one waxed gay']
"'And are not these the Fish,' the Eldest sighed, 'Whose Mother dwells beneath the foam'
'They are the Fish!' the Second one replied.
'And they have left their home!'
'Oh wicked Fish,' the Youngest Badger cried, 'To roam, yea, roam, and roam!'
"Gently the Badgers trotted to the shore The sandy shore that fringed the bay:
Each in his mouth a living Herring bore--
Those aged ones waxed gay:
Clear rang their voices through the ocean's roar, 'Hooray, hooray, hooray!'""So they all got safe home again," Bruno said, after waiting a minute to see if I had anything to say: he evidently felt that some remark ought to be made.And I couldn't help wishing there were some such rule in Society, at the conclusion of a song--that the singer herself should say the right thing, and not leave it to the audience.Suppose a young lady has just been warbling ('with a grating and uncertain sound')Shelley's exquisite lyric 'I arise from dreams of thee': how much nicer it would be, instead of your having to say "Oh, thank you, thank you!"for the young lady herself to remark, as she draws on her gloves, while the impassioned words 'Oh, press it to thine own, or it will break at last!' are still ringing in your ears, "--but she wouldn't do it, you know.So it did break at last.""And I knew it would!" she added quietly, as I started at the sudden crash of broken glass."You've been holding it sideways for the last minute, and letting all the champagne run out! Were you asleep, I wonder? I'm so sorry my singing has such a narcotic effect!"
