"So they call'd her, they call'd her,
The lass—the lass
With a delicate air,
De—lick-it—lick-it—lick-it
The lass with a de—lick-it air."
The young rascal made frightful mouths, and put out his tongue every time he said "lick-it," and when he had finished, asked Furlong, "Wasn't that the thing?" Furlong told him his grandmamma had been going to sing it, but this pleasure had been deferred till to-morrow.
"Then you did not hear it?" said Ratty.
Furlong answered in the negative.
"Och! murder! murder! I'm sorry I told you."
"Is it so vewy pa'ticula', then?" inquired Furlong.