Closing her book but keeping it clasped in her hands she went inside the house and stood waiting to know his pleasure, surprise—almost apprehension at this unexpected summons—showing plainly in her face. "You were reciting some gabble on the steps a little bit ago. Say it again."
"Gabble?" said the puzzled girl questioningly.
"Yes, something about Ghent."
"Oh, that wasn't gabble! That is a masterpiece, teacher says. Why, Robert Browning wrote that!"
"Um-hm. I'm not interested in Robert Browning. All I want is that piece. Speak it."
Astonished and not comprehending this demand in the least, Tabitha began falteringly, somewhat indifferently:
"I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;
I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three;"
But as the familiar words slipped from her tongue, the spirit of the piece came over her. Her voice grew tense with feeling and the hands that never could stay still lent their aid to the difficult art of expression.
"So, we were left galloping, Joris and I,
Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;
The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh,
'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff;
Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,
And 'Gallop,' gasped Joris, 'for Aix is in sight!'"
Her hand shot out toward the imaginary Aix, the ill-fated grammar was forgotten, it slipped from her loosened clasp, flew through the air and struck the elder Catt a heavy blow in the stomach.