“Fond of music, sir?” enquired another.
“Yes, I’m a bit of a musician myself. If our friend will oblige I’ll give you a tune or two upon the fiddle.”
This seemed to have a magic effect upon the villagers, who thumped the tables till the pots and glasses danced on the board.
“Will ’ee, though? Oh, that be grand!” exclaimed several. “Now, Nat, just mek a beginning.”
“You must excuse me, sir, if I break down,” said the old man, apologetically; “I aint what I yoosed to be.”
“He’s never satisfied unless he’s telling us that,” cried a voice. “Come, old man, fire away.”
Old Nat cleared his throat with one or two preliminary ahems, and then, in a high treble, trolled a nautical ballad—the first verse of which described the loves of a youth and village maiden, who plighted their troth under a linden tree; the verse ended with a mournful refrain, which was as follows:—
Now this ere Jack he was hard-hearted,
Which no true lovyer ought for to be;
And this here Sall he soon desarted,