Part 4 (1/2)

Among the fine ladies and lords, A very fine figure you'd cut.”

A basin of water she took, And dash'd in poor Catskin's face; But briskly her ears she shook, And went to her hiding-place.

She washed every stain from her skin, In some crystal waterfall; Then put on a beautiful dress, And hasted away to the ball.

When she entered, the ladies were mute, Overcome by her figure and face; But the lord, her young master, at once Fell in love with her beauty and grace;

He pray'd her his partner to be, She said, ”Yes!” with a sweet smiling glance; All night with no other lady But Catskin, our young lord would dance.

”Pray tell me, fair maid, where you live?”

For now was the sad parting time; But she no other answer would give, Than this distich of mystical rhyme,--

[Old English Script: Kind Sir, if the truth I must tell, At the sign of the Basin of Water I Dwell.]

Then she flew from the ball-room, and put On her Catskin robe again; And slipt in unseen by the cook, Who little thought where she had been.

The young lord, the very next day, To his mother his pa.s.sion betrayed; He declared he never would rest, Till he'd found out this beautiful maid.

There's another grand ball to be, Where ladies their beauties show; ”Mrs. Cook,” said Catskin, ”dear me, How much I should like to go!”

”You go with your Catskin robe, You dirty impudent s.l.u.t!

Among the fine ladies and lords, A very fine figure you'd cut.”

In a rage the ladle she took, And broke poor Catskin's head; But off she went shaking her ears, And swift to her forest she fled.

She washed every blood-stain off In some crystal waterfall; Put on a more beautiful dress, And hasted away to the ball.

My lord, at the ball-room door, Was waiting with pleasure and pain; He longed to see nothing so much As the beautiful Catskin again.

When he asked her to dance, she again Said ”Yes!” with her first smiling glance; And again, all the night, my young lord With none but fair Catskin did dance.

”Pray tell me,” said he, ”where you live?”

For now 'twas the parting-time; But she no other answer would give, Than this distich of mystical rhyme,--

[Old English Script: Kind Sir, if the truth I must tell, At the sign of the Broken-Ladle I dwell.]

Then she flew from the ball, and put on Her Catskin robe again; And slipt in unseen by the cook, Who little thought where she had been.

My lord did again, the next day, Declare to his mother his mind, That he never more happy should be, Unless he his charmer should find.

Now another grand ball is to be, Where ladies their beauties show; ”Mrs. Cook,” said Catskin, ”dear me, How much I should like to go!”

”You go with your Catskin robe, You impudent, dirty s.l.u.t!

Among the fine ladies and lords, A very fine figure you'd cut.”

In a fury she took the skimmer, And broke poor Catskin's head; But heart-whole and lively as ever, Away to her forest she fled.

She washed the stains of blood In some crystal waterfall; Then put on her most beautiful dress, And hasted away to the ball.