"A hundred and three," they said, "a hundred and four, a hundred and five," and then they gave a great shout.
"You're the one," they cried, "you're the very one! You've exactly a hundred and five!"
She opened her eyes again and saw them dancing about.
"Where's the flute?" she asked.
The soldier gave it to her.
"And the moon's full," said the greengrocer, "and it's a quarter to twelve. Perhaps we shall soon find my appetite."
"And my character," said the soldier.
"And my husband," said the stout lady.
"And my temper," said Lancelot.
But the drummers had lost hope, and still stared at the ground.