He called for his bowl,
And he called for his fiddlers three.”
In came the fiddlers, playing tweedle-dweele-dee, making nice music, until, all at once:
“Snap! Snap! Snap!” went something. “Snap!”
“My goodness me sakes alive and some orange lemonade!” cried Uncle Wiggily. “What was that?”
“Our fiddle strings have broken!” cried one of the fiddlers. “Now we can make no more music until we have new strings.”
“Oh, dear!” cried King Cole. “That’s too bad. I must have music from my fiddlers three, or from some one, or Mother Goose won’t like it. How can I get squeaky fiddle music for Uncle Wiggily? How can I?”
Just then Jollie Longtail popped his head out from Uncle Wiggily’s pocket.
“If you please, Old King Cole,” he said, “Jillie, Squeaky-Eeky and I, with our squeaky voices, will make music for you if you like.”
“I do like,” said the king. “Make some music, if you please!”