"That's all very well, Tom, but the notes from your throat are not taken at the bank."
"Well," retorted he, cheerily, "to get even, it is not many bank-notes I take."
Moore, after fetching a high stool from a distant corner of the room, perched himself upon it and began to sing, the school-room echoing with the clear ringing voice that was destined in after years to be the delight of the most fashionable circle in Europe. He had selected an old ballad setting forth the emotions felt by a world-worn traveller as he threaded the streets of his native village after years of wandering abroad, and, as the chorus was composed of the various song-game rhymes sung by the children in their play, it was quite familiar to the pupils of Mistress Dyke, who joined in heartily.
"Ready," cried Moore, beckoning the children from their places. "Now, all together.
"'I came to see Miss Jenny O'Jones,
Jenny O'Jones, Jenny O'Jones,
I came to see Miss Jenny O'Jones,
And how is she to-day?'"
"'Ready,' cried Moore, 'Now, all together.'"
Hand in hand the children, their shrill voices raised tunefully under the leadership of Moore, marched gayly forward and back, the poet prancing as joyously as any of them, as he beat time with a ruler.
"Second verse," he said, and, enjoying every note, sang it through to the huge delight of his audience, who, when the chorus was reached a second time, danced around him in a circle, their pleasure proving so infectious that Bessie herself deserted her desk to take part in the wind-up, which was both uproarious and prolonged.
"That will do you," said Moore, mopping his face with his handkerchief. "Faith, it is great fun we have been having, Bessie."