"It vexed us very much to see
A frog so impolite
I flung a gnarly stick at him—
Flung it with all my might.
"It floated softly on the fog.
As softly as a feather;
The frog jumped on and sailed away,
Leaving us there together
"A-shaking both our fists at him
Till they were sore and numb.
The bull-frog merely blinked at us,
And sang: 'You'll drown! Bottle-o'-Rum!'
"With that I left the Pedagogue
A-sitting in the wet.
He was so absent-minded, I
Dare say he's sitting yet—
"Upon the little school-house steps,
Revolving in his mind
The definite relation 'twixt
The cosmos and mankind."
When the Itinerant Tinker had finished his story he rose wearily to his feet.
"If we don't hurry along," he said, "I doubt whether we shall reach the Crypt in time to take our tea. I never—"
He was interrupted at this point by a shrill voice, coming, it seemed, from the direction of the forest.
"Jingle-junk! jingle-junk! jingle-junk!" shouted the penetrating voice.
The Itinerant Tinker stopped instantly. An angry frown gathered on his brow.