"Sit down, Mr. Clark; I want to ask you something," said Mrs. Morrison. "It is about the song Frances is always singing,—
| "'The bridge is broke—'" |
"What is the rest of it?"
"I will tell you all I know, but that isn't much," he replied, crossing his legs and looking into the fire. "I used to like to hear it from my grandfather when I was a child, and I found it interested Mark, my nephew, when he was a little chap. This is the way it goes.
"A man was once taking a long journey on foot. After walking several hours he came to a deep, swift stream over which there had once been a bridge, but now it was not to be seen. On the opposite side of the river a man was chopping wood, and the traveller called to him to know what had become of the bridge. The reply—and this is always sung—was:—
| "'The bridge is broke and I have to mend it, |
| Fol de rol de ri do, fol de rol de ri do, |
| The bridge is broke and I have to mend it, |
| Fol de rol de ri.' |
"'How deep is the river?' the traveller then asked.
| "'Throw in a stone, 'twill sink to the bottom, |
| Fol de rol de ri do, fol de rol de ri—' etc. |
"'How can I get across?' was the next question.