I would,—were it not so long.”
The voice gave a great sigh, and the singing ceased.
“I used to make up little rhymes when I was a girl,” said the Queen, “and very pretty little rhymes they were, too, or at least your grandmother, Dorobel, used to say so. But dear me; I never could remember verses, no matter how hard I tried; never.”
“Yes, yes, grandmother,” said Bojohn. “Go on, Solario.”
“Now the King was different; he could remember them, but he couldn’t make them up; and I could make them up, but I couldn’t remember them! Tee-hee-hee! Dear, dear! When I think of it!”
“Grandmother,” said Bojohn, “Solario is waiting to go on.”
“So he is,” said the Queen. “I never liked sad stories when I was a girl, for they always made me cry. But this one may turn out better than I expect. I really think you’re doing very nicely, Solario. I always say, that no matter how poorly one makes out, he ought to be praised if he is doing his best.”
“Go on!” cried Bojohn; and Solario proceeded.
When the singing ceased (said Alb) I climbed noiselessly around the rock to the other side, and looked down.