So the Jacky-Toad hung up his lamp and Mabel got out of bed and very soon mastered the “Wildfire Gallop”—the great classical dance of Jacky-Toads all the world over.
“Gormed if I ever seed a pixie do it better!” said her tutor.
“There are no such things as pixies,” replied Mabel promptly.
“No pixies! You ban’t so clever as I thought ’e, ’pears to me. No pixies! You’ll say theer ban’t no spriggans, nor elves, nor brownies, nor goblins, nor tankeraboguses, nor efts, nor Jacky-Twoads next!”
“My father has told me there are no pixies—therefore there are none,” answered Mabel. “You can hardly suppose that I should take your word before his?”
“Dammy! I’ve seed ’em scores an’ scores o’ times,” began the Jacky-Toad; but Mabel never argued with him, and always punished a bad word instantly. Whenever he swore she put him back into his marmalade-jar. This she now did, so he learned no more that night.
On the following evening he apologised as soon as he was let out, and his mistress accepted the expression of regret without comment.
“I’ve been thinking that a little English poetry might enlarge your mind,” she said. “Much of it is very simple and beautiful, and I know a great deal by heart.”
“I’ll do my best, I promise ’e, but I ban’t hopeful.”
“Well, Shakespeare would be too difficult, of course; but I happen to know a very lovely poem called ‘Excelsior,’ by Longfellow. That you might understand; and if you only learned a verse or two it would be something.”