Part 4 (1/2)

MRS. M. For shame, Miss! your father hadn't but one when we were married; but, bless me! what _is_ Algernon doing?

Sure enough, Master Algy _was_ doing something extraordinary, for Maggie had made him overset the dish of potatoes in the middle of the table, and then jump up and sit on the back of his chair, with both legs in the air!

MRS. M. My pasence! _what_ a naughty boy! Toby, take this bad boy right up stairs; I am socked! (shocked.)

ALGY. Oh, boo-hoo! boo-hoo! please let me stay!

MRS. M. Well, then, behave yourself.

MISS MORRIS. Mrs. Montague, I think you had _better_ send your children away; they are too bad for anything.

ANGELINA. Oh! oh! I wouldn't be your child for a dollar! (”That's just what I say to my big sister!” put in Maggie in her proper person.)

MRS. M. Oh, they are dear little things; they only do it in fun, Miss Morris.

MR. MORRIS. Well, I don't see it. If they were my children, I should lock them up in a dark closet.

MISS MORRIS. So should I.

ANGELINA. H-a! h-a-a-a! that's just where you are kept yourself!

MISS MORRIS. Oh, I _shall_ faint!

MRS. M. Angelina! you sha'n't have any pudding for being so bad. There, I guess it's time for dessert,”--and without condescending to ask if the company were through dinner, Mrs. Montague, with a wave of her lily-white kid hand, ordered Toby to clear away the dishes; and, the pudding and jelly being put on the table, Lina went on:

MR. M. Miss Morris, have some plum-pudding?

TOBY. No, take some ob de jolly, missis; he so _jolly_ good! _I_ taste um!

Mr. M. Toby, I am _astonissed_! I shall have to discharge you to-morrow.

”And have an Irishman come!” cried Minnie; ”and talk funny, like our Patrick!”

”Yes, that will be real fun!” said Lina. ”There, they have had dinner enough; let them go in the parlor now.”

Accordingly, the company had their chairs pushed back for them and were taken into the parlor, all but the naughty children, who had to be sent straight to bed, they were so bad. Mr. and Mrs. Montague took possession of the arm chairs, as they were the oldest; Miss Morris was accommodated with an uncommonly hard ottoman without any back, in the corner; Mr. Morris plumped down on the sofa, as that was the only seat large enough for him, and the play went on (Minnie speaking).

MR. MORRIS. Miss Isabella, I wish you would sing us a song.

ISABELLA. Oh, really, I have _sitch_ a bad cold. I don't think I can.

MR. MORRIS. Oh, please do, Miss Isabella! Sing that pretty song about the little milkmaid.

ISABELLA. Well, I'll see if I can.

So Maggie made the young lady take a funny little sc.r.a.p of music out of the stand (called a Canterbury), and put it on the piano. The t.i.tle of the piece on the outside was, ”Souvenirs de l'Opera,” which means in English ”Recollections of the Opera,” but it did just as well for a song. Miss Isabella was seated at the piano, and Maggie moved her hands up and down the keys, to look as if she were playing; while in her own sweet bird-like voice she sang for her this song:

”'Where are you going, my pretty maid?

Where are you going, my pretty maid?'

'I'm going a milking, sir,' she said, 'I'm going a milking, sir,' she said.

”'May I go with you, my pretty maid?

May I go with you, my pretty maid?'