“Oh, I couldn’t make a rime to save my life,” said Jessie, with such a scared look that everybody laughed.
“But you’ll have to,” cried Betty. “Every one of us must write our own song, whether we can do it or not.”
“Help me out, Nannie,” said Jessie, pleadingly; “you’re a real live Poet, and you ought to teach the art to one who is but a lowly Scullery-maid.”
“Well, we’ll have a duet,” said Nan, good-naturedly, “and I’ll write it for us both, and then you and I will sing it together. Here goes!”
Enter Scullery-maid, carrying under her arm a dictionary, and in her hand a pad and pencil.
Enter Poet, with frying-pan and cake of soap.
SCULLERY-MAID AND POET
(A Duet)
“Where are you going, my Scullery-maid?”
“I seek inspiration, kind Poet,” she said.