Softly shadows creep and linger
Where my Moumouth lies asleep;
And ye flowers that nod and blossom,
Over him your vigils keep.
Guard well my slumbering Moumouth;
Let no evil harm or pain,
And let him but wake from dreaming,
To sleep and dream again—
Dream on!
[Exit slowly. A fearful cat howling is heard without. Enter Lustucru, bag in hand, full of Moumouth, and a club in the other.]
Lustucru. At last! at last! Moumouth, you jewel, you angel. You refuse cold water diet and hash, but a beating you never refused yet. Beets are good enough, too, in their way, and you shall soon be a "dead beat." But first let me rejoice awhile. [Moumouth struggles in the bag.] Ah! you do not like being shut up in a bag? Then we will have to hasten affairs. One, two, three, and away we go. One, two— [Raises stick. Mother Michel is heard without, calling "Moumouth!" Lustucru drops his stick, dumfounded.]
Michel (without). Moumouth! Moumouth! Surely I heard Moumouth somewhere. [Entering.] Ah, Father Lustucru, have you— [In amazement.]. Why, what have you in that bag?
Lustucru. I—I was—beating a little meal, or corn—out—that—
Michel (sternly). Lustucru, that bag has something alive in it. Moumouth, where are you? [Moumouth mews in the bag.] Traitor [flying at Lustucru and grasping the bag], thou art unmasked.
Lustucru (dropping on his knees). Mercy, mercy, my good Michel—my sweet Michel.
Michel (swinging aloft the bag). Then you have endeavored to kill him all along? The hash was—