Part 27 (1/2)

'I shall make a' girls cry,' quoth Blackbird, with a grin.

'Do'n good, too; they likes it: zing away.'

And the boy began, in a broad country tw.a.n.g, which could not overpower the sad melody of the air, or the rich sweetness of his flute-like voice,--

'Young Mary walked sadly down through the green clover, And sighed as she looked at the babe at her breast; ”My roses are faded, my false love a rover, The green graves they call me, 'Come home to your rest.'”

'Then by rode a soldier in gorgeous arraying, And ”Where is your bride-ring, my fair maid?” he cried; ”I ne'er had a bride-ring, by false man's betraying, Nor token of love but this babe at my side.

'”Tho' gold could not buy me, sweet words could deceive me; So faithful and lonely till death I must roam.”

”Oh, Mary, sweet Mary, look up and forgive me, With wealth and with glory your true love comes home;

'”So give me my own babe, those soft arms adorning, I'll wed you and cherish you, never to stray; For it's many a dark and a wild cloudy morning, Turns out by the noon-time a suns.h.i.+ny day.”'

'A bad moral that, sir,' whispered Tregarva.

'Better than none,' answered Lancelot.

'It's well if you are right, sir, for you'll hear no other.'

The keeper spoke truly; in a dozen different songs, more or less coa.r.s.ely, but, in general, with a dash of pathetic sentiment, the same case of lawless love was embodied. It seemed to be their only notion of the romantic. Now and then there was a poaching song; then one of the lowest flash London school--filth and all--was roared in chorus in presence of the women.

'I am afraid that you do not thank me for having brought you to any place so unfit for a gentleman,' said Tregarva, seeing Lancelot's sad face.

'Because it is so unfit for a gentleman, therefore I do thank you.

It is right to know what one's own flesh and blood are doing.'

'Hark to that song, sir! that's an old one. I didn't think they'd get on to singing that.'

The Blackbird was again on the table, but seemed this time disinclined to exhibit.

'Out wi' un, boy; it wain't burn thy mouth!'

'I be afeard.'

'O' who?'

'Keeper there.'

He pointed to Tregarva; there was a fierce growl round the room.

'I am no keeper,' shouted Tregarva, starting up. 'I was turned off this morning for speaking my mind about the squires, and now I'm one of you, to live and die.'

This answer was received with a murmur of applause; and a fellow in a scarlet merino neckerchief, three waistcoats, and a fancy shooting-jacket, who had been eyeing Lancelot for some time, sidled up behind them, and whispered in Tregarva's ear,--

'Perhaps you'd like an engagement in our line, young man, and your friend there, he seems a sporting gent too.--We could show him very pretty shooting.'

Tregarva answered by the first and last oath Lancelot ever heard from him, and turning to him, as the rascal sneaked off,--