Isabella. Oh, really, I have sitch a bad cold. I don't think I can.
Mr. Morris. Oh, please do, Miss Isabella! Sing that pretty song about the little milkmaid.
Isabella. Well, I'll see if I can.
So Maggie made the young lady take a funny little scrap of music out of the stand (called a Canterbury), and put it on the piano. The title of the piece on the outside was, "Souvenirs de l'Opera," which means in English "Recollections of the Opera," but it did just as well for a song. Miss Isabella was seated at the piano, and Maggie moved her hands up and down the keys, to look as if she were playing; while in her own sweet bird-like voice she sang for her this song:
"'Where are you going, my pretty maid?
Where are you going, my pretty maid?'
'I'm going a milking, sir,' she said,
'I'm going a milking, sir,' she said.
"'May I go with you, my pretty maid?
May I go with you, my pretty maid?'
'Yes, if you please, kind sir,' she said,
'Yes, if you please, kind sir,' she said.
"'What is your father, my pretty maid?
What is your father, my pretty maid?'
'My father's a farmer, sir,' she said,
'My father's a farmer, sir,' she said.
"'Oh, then may I marry you, my pretty maid?
Then may I marry you, my pretty maid?'
'Yes, if you please, kind sir,' she said,
'Yes, if you please, kind sir,' she said.
"'What is your fortune, my pretty maid?
What is your fortune, my pretty maid?'
'My face is my fortune, sir,' she said,
'My face is my fortune, sir,' she said.
"'Oh, then I can't marry you, my pretty maid!
But then I won't marry you, my pretty maid!'
'Nobody asked you, sir!' she said,
'Nobody asked you, sir!!' she said!"
The dolls all clapped their hands very hard when Miss Isabella finished singing, as if they liked it "first rate." Mr. Morris leaned back so far in his seat, either from admiration or because he was slipping off, that his eyes suddenly shut up, and opened with a queer little pop inside of him when Minnie righted him. As to Miss Morris, she glared at the company with her old white eyeballs as if she was looking down inside of herself to see how the pudding had agreed with her.
Then Maggie went on.
Miss Isabella. There! how do you like that?
Mr. Morris. Oh, thank you, Miss Isabella; it's the sweetest song I ever heard.
Mrs. Montague. Won't you sing us a song, Mr. Morris?