And when the boy,
exhausted with his heroic exertions, threw himself down on the
pine-needles and begged "Miss Hildy" to sing to them, she readily
consented, and sang "Jock o' Hazeldean" and "Come o'er the stream,
Charlie!" so sweetly that the little fat birds sat still on the branches
to listen. A faint glow stole into Pink's wan cheek, and her blue eyes
sparkled with pleasure; while Bubble bobbed his head, and testified his
delight by drumming with his heels on the ground and begging for more.
"A ballid now, Miss Hildy, please," he cried.
"Well," said Hildegarde, nothing loth, "what shall it be?"
"One with some fightin' in it," replied Bubble, promptly.
So Hildegarde began:--
"Down Deeside cam Inverey,
Whistling and playing;
He's lighted at Brackley gates
At the day's dawing."
And went on to tell of the murder of "bonnie Brackley" and of the
treachery of his young wife:--
"There's grief in the kitchen,
And mirth in the ha';
But the Baron o' Brackley
Is dead and awa'."
So the ballad ended, leaving Bubble full of sanguinary desires anent the
descendants of the false Inverey. "I--I--I'd like jest to git holt o'
some o' them fellers!" he exclaimed. "They wouldn't go slaughterin'
round no gret amount when I'd finished with em', I tell ye!" And he
flourished his stick, and looked so fierce that the puppy yelped
piteously, expecting another onslaught.
"And now, Pink," said Hilda, "we have just time for a story before we go
home.
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