"The lamp's burnin'," said Pippin, "but yet it's went wrong, some ways, but even so—green grass! she's a pictur!"
Coming to the end of his song, he smiled and nodded at the upturned face.
"Sing more for Flora May!" cried the girl. "Sing more!"
"Sure!" said Pippin. "Wait till I get a start on this aidge, Miss Flora May—Now! Here's what'll please you, I expect:
"Joseph was an old man,
An old man was he;
He married sweet Mary,
The Queen of Galilee.
"As they went a-walking
In the garden so gay,
Maid Mary spied cherries
Hanging over yon tree.
"Mary said to cherry tree,
'Bow down to my knee,
That I may pluck cherries
By one, two, and three.'"
A long way back to the cellar, and Granny Faa crooning over her black pot—in her best mood, be sure, or she would not be singing the Cherry Tree Carol. A far longer way back to an English lane in early summer, the gypsy tilt halted under a laden cherry tree, the gypsy mother singing to her little maid as she dangled the cherries over her head. A long, long road to go, and yet as yesterday, as a watch in the night.
"O eat your cherries, Mary,
O eat your cherries now,
O eat your cherries, Mary,
That grow upon the bough."—
"Now, Mr. Pippin," called Mrs. Bailey from the doorway, "it's plain to be seen there'll be no supper in this house till you give over singin'. I'm full loath to ask you to stop, but my cakes have to be eat hot, or they're no good."