Lucy had taken the pretty little King Charles spaniel in her lap, and they had a most delightful chat together, which ended in their vowing everlasting friendship to each other, and promising to exchange visits every day, for, as the King Charles was one of Lord Chesterfield’s family, this could be very easily done.
When the gentlemen came up stairs, they had coffee, and then, as it was getting dark, the little bustling old gentleman ordered the gas to be lighted, and proposed some music. First, Lucy played “Old Dog Tray,” with one little white finger on the piano, and then she lisped out, in her sweet way, “I know a pretty ’tory.”
“Ah! tell it!” cried all the company, gathering gently round her, for there was no pushing, or squealing—“Here, let me come in! don’t crowd so!” No, indeed! for that would have been any thing but polite. They all fastened their eyes on the lovely little girl, who stood resting her arm on Beppo’s neck, so proud and happy to have it there, and in her sweet voice, like a robin’s song, she began:
“A—doo was faller fas,[1]
A—’tar bedan a—bink,
I heard a voice, a—said,
“Dint, pitty teeter, dint!”
A—looker in a—hed,
A—’fore me I a—pied