Savile read aloud in an aggressive, matter-of-fact manner the following words:——
"My singing bird, my singing bird,
Oh sing, oh sing, oh sing, oh sing to me,
Nothing like it has ever been heard,"
(Here he dropped the letter-case, and picked it up, blushing at the contents that had fallen out.)
"And I do love to hear thee sing."
His aunt looked a little faint. She leant back and fanned herself, taking out her smelling-salts.
"That's not all," said Savile. Warming to his work, he went on more gruffly:—
"What should I do if you should stop?
Oh wilt thou sing for me alone?
For I will fly to hear your notes:
Your tune would melt a heart of stone."
"My gracious, my dear, it's a poem!" said Aunt William.
"Who said it wasn't? But you can't judge till you've heard the whole thing."