Part 1 (2/2)
”_My love he is a soldier bold, And my love is a knight; He girds him in a coat of mail, When he goes forth to fight._”
”That's not quite so bad as usual,” said Napoleon condescendingly, toying meanwhile with the lash of an old dog-whip he had just ”boned”
out of the harness-room. Priscilla beamed gratefully upon her critic, and proceeded--
”_He rides him forth across the sand_----”
”Who rides whom?” cried Napoleon. ”Didn't the fool ride a horse?”
”It means himself,” said Priscilla meekly.
”Then why doesn't _it_ say so?” cried the critic triumphantly, tapping his boot with the ”boned” dog-whip just like any ordinary lord of creation in presence of his inferiors.
”It's poetry,” explained Priscilla timidly.
”It's silly!” retorted Napoleon, judicially and finally.
Priscilla resumed her reading in a lower and more hurried tone. She knew that she was skating over thin ice.
”_He rides him forth across the sand, Upon a stealthy steed._”
”You mean 'stately,' you know,” interrupted Napoleon--somewhat rudely, Priscilla thought. Yet he was quite within his rights, for Priscilla had not yet learned that a critic always knows what you mean to say much better than you do yourself.
”No, I don't mean 'stately,'” said Priscilla, ”I mean 'stealthy,' the way a horse goes on sand. You go and gallop on the sea-sh.o.r.e and you'll find out.”
”I shan't. I haven't got any sea-sh.o.r.e,” said Napoleon. ”But do hurry.
I've listened quite a pennyworth now.”
”_He rides him forth across the sand, Upon a stealthy steed, And when he sails upon the sea, He plays upon a reed!_”
”Great soft _he_ was,” cried Napoleon Smith; ”and if ever I hear you say that I did such a thing----”
Priscilla hurried on more quickly than ever.
”_In all the world there's none can do The deeds that he hath done: When he hath slain his enemies, Then he comes back alone._”
”That's better!” said Napoleon, nodding encouragement. ”At any rate it isn't long. Now, give me my penny.”
”Shan't,” said Priscilla, the pride of successful achievement swelling in her breast; ”besides, it isn't Sat.u.r.day yet, and you've only listened to three verses anyway. You will have to listen to ever so much more than that before you get a penny.”
”Hugh John! Priscilla!” came a voice from a distance.
The great soldier Napoleon Smith instantly effected a retreat in masterly fas.h.i.+on behind a gooseberry bush.
”There's Jane calling us,” said Priscilla; ”she wants us to go in and be washed for dinner.”
”Course she does,” sneered Napoleon; ”think she's out screeching like that for fun? Well, let her. I am not going in to be towelled till I'm all over red and scurfy, and get no end of soap in my eyes.”
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