Elfie. You seem so sad and troubled, Grandma. Let me sing you one of the songs with which I drew a smile from poor dear Pa in happier days.
Lady B. No, no, some other time. (Aside.) Pshaw! why should I dread the effect of her simple melodies? Sing, child, if you will.
Elfie. How glad I am that I brought my banjo! [Sings.
Dar is a lubly yaller gal that tickles me to deff;
She'll dance de room ob darkies down, and take away deir breff.
When she sits down to supper, ebery coloured gemple-man,
As she gets her upper lip o'er a plate o' "possum dip," cries, "Woa, Lucindy Ann!" (Chorus, dear Granny!)
Woa, Lucindy! Woa, Lucindy! Woa, Lucindy Ann!
At de rate dat you are stuffin, you will nebber leave us nuffin; so woa, Miss Sindy Ann!
To Lady B. (who, after joining in chorus with deep emotion, has burst into tears). Why, you are weeping, dear Grandmother!
Lady B. Nay, 'tis nothing, child—but have you no songs which are less sad?
Elfie. Oh, yes, I know plenty of plantation ditties more cheerful than that. (Sings.)
Oh, I hear a gentle whisper from de days ob long ago,
When I used to be a happy darkie slave. (Trump-a-trump.)
But now I'se got to labour wif de shovel an' de hoe—
For ole Massa lies a sleepin' in his grave! (Trump-trump.)
Chorus.
Poor ole Massa! Poor ole Massa! (Pianissimo.) Poor ole Massa, dat I nebber more shall see!
He was let off by de Jury, Way down in ole Missouri—But dey lynched him on a persimmon tree.
Elfie. You smile at last, dear Grandma! I would sing to you again, but I am so very, very sleepy!