"No, she don't," said Bubble, looking up from his cold chicken; "she looks like Lars Porsena of Clusium sot in his ivory cheer, on'y she ain't f'erce enough. Hold up yer head, Pinky, an' look real savage, an' I'll do Horatius at the Bridge."
Pink did her best to look savage, and Zerubbabel stood up and delivered "Horatius" with much energy and appropriate action, to the great amusement of his audience. A stout stick, cut from a neighboring thicket, served for the "good Roman steel;" and with this he cut and slashed and stabbed with furious energy, reciting the lines meanwhile with breathless ferocity. He slew the "great Lord of Luna," and on the imaginary body he—
"Right firmly pressed his heel,
And thrice and four times tugged amain,
Ere he wrenched out the steel."
But when he cried—
"What noble Lucumo comes next
To taste our Roman cheer?"
the puppy, who had been watching the scene with kindling eyes, and ears and tail of eager inquiry, could bear it no longer, but flung himself valiantly into the breach, and barked defiance, dancing about in front of Horatius and snapping furiously at his legs. Alas, poor puppy! He was hailed as "Sextus," and bade "welcome" by the bold Roman, who forthwith charged upon him, and drove him round and round the grove till he sought safety and protection in the lap of Lars Porsena herself. Then the bridge came down, and Horatius, climbing nimbly to the top of the rock, apostrophized his Father Tiber, sheathed his good sword by his side (i.e., rammed his stick into and through his breeches pocket), and with his jacket on his back plunged headlong in the tide, and swam valiantly across the pine-strewn surface of the little glade.
Bubble's performance was much applauded by the two girls, who, in the characters of Lars Porsena and Mamilius, "Prince of the Latian name," had surveyed the whole with dignified amazement. And when the boy, exhausted with his heroic exertions, threw himself down on the pine-needles and begged "Miss Hildy" to sing to them, she readily consented, and sang "Jock o' Hazeldean" and "Come o'er the stream, Charlie!" so sweetly that the little fat birds sat still on the branches to listen. A faint glow stole into Pink's wan cheek, and her blue eyes sparkled with pleasure; while Bubble bobbed his head, and testified his delight by drumming with his heels on the ground and begging for more. "A ballid now, Miss Hildy, please," he cried.
"Well," said Hildegarde, nothing loth, "what shall it be?"
"One with some fightin' in it," replied Bubble, promptly.
So Hildegarde began:—