"Good morning, miss," she said. "If you've got a pencil and paper, you can take down the words."
"But sing them first," begged the listener. "I want to hear you sing them to the old tune, because I expect the tune is as old as the words, Nancy."
"It's a funny old tune for certain. I can't sing it like grandfather did, for all his age. He croaked it like a machine running, and that seemed the proper way. But I've not got much of a voice."
"'Tis loud enough, anyway," said Mercy, "and that's a virtue."
"Yes, you can hear what I'm saying," admitted Miss Buckler, then she sang her song.
"When a twister, a twisting, will twist him a twist,
With the twisting his twist, he the twine doth entwist;
But if one of the twines of the twist doth untwist,
The twine that untwisteth, untwisteth the twist,
Untwisting the twine that entwineth between,
He twists with his twister the two in a twine.
Then, twice having twisted the twines of his twine,
He twisteth the twine he had twined in twine.
The twain, that in twining before in the twine,
As twines were entwisted, he now doth untwine,
'Twixt the twain intertwisting a twine more between."
Nancy gave her remarkable performance in a clear, thin treble. It was a monotonous melody, but suited the words very well. She sang slowly and her face and voice exhibited neither light nor shade. Yet her method suited the words in their exceedingly unemotional appeal.
"It's the most curious song I ever heard," cried Estelle, "and you sing it perfectly, because I heard every word."
Then she brought out pencil and paper, sat in the deep alcove of the window and transcribed Nancy's verse.
"You must sing that to my father next time you come up," she said.
"It's like no other song in the world, I'm sure."