"And now Miss Bathgate will sing," said Mhor.
"I will not sing," said Miss Bathgate. "I've mair pride than make a fool o' mysel' to please folk."
"Oh, come on," Jock begged. "Look at Mrs. M'Cosh!"
Miss Bathgate snorted.
"Ay," said Mrs. M'Cosh, with imperturbable good-humour, "she seen me, and she thinks yin auld fool is enough at a time. Never heed, Bella, juist gie us a verse."
Miss Bathgate protested that she knew no songs, and had no voice, but under persuasion she broke into a ditty, a sort of recitative:
"Gang further up the toon, Geordie Broon, Geordie Broon,
Gang further up the toon, Geordie Broon:
Gang further up the toon
Till ye's spent yer hale hauf-croon,
And then come singin' doon,
Geordie Broon, Geordie Broon."
"I remember that when I was a child," Jean said. "We used to be put to sleep with it; it is very soothing. Thank you so much, Miss Bathgate … Now I think we should have a game."
"Forfeits," Miss Teenie suggested.
"That's a silly game," said Mhor; "there's kissing in it."