A Terrible Tomboy Part 7

'If you dare, Peg!' said Lilian.

But for once Peggy turned tell-tale, and disclosed the secret.

'It's a c.o.o.n song she's made up herself,' she declared stoutly.

'Oh, do sing it!' cried Susie. 'I couldn't write a note of music if I tried for a year.'

'Yes, yes, you must!' echoed the others.

Thus urged, the unwilling composer was hauled to the piano and pressed on to the music-stool, where, with many protestations and much bashfulness, she sang the following song:

SHOO! PICCANINNIES.

[Music: Shoo! Piccaninnies.]

1. 'Way down in Georgia where de sugar am grow, All de piccaninnies want to suck de canes, you know!

An' dey're hidin' round an' peepin', like de 'possum all de day, Till Uncle Sambo bring his stick an' chase 'em all away!

Chorus.

Shoo, shoo! piccaninnies mustn't come near!

Don't want no little piccaninnies 'way down here!

Ole mammy callin' you, de melon-beds among-- Shoo! little piccaninnies, 'way! go 'long!

2. When de kitchen-fire am blazin', an' Aunt Dinah stews an' bakes, All de piccaninnies gather just to smell her pies an' cakes; An' dey cl.u.s.ter round de window like de bees upon a comb, Till Auntie Dinah she get mad, an' turn an' drive 'em home!

Shoo, shoo! piccaninnies, etc.

3. When ma.s.sa go a-drivin' in de carry-all and pair, Little piccaninnies run behind to shout Hurrah! and stare; Den de overseer he come up, and use his big, long lash, And say de road was neber meant to harbour n.i.g.g.e.r tras.h.!.+

Shoo, shoo! piccaninnies, etc.

'It's lovely!' cried the admiring girls. 'Did you make up the words too?'

'Of course she did,' said Peggy, who was proud of her sister's talents.

'She has made lots of others, too. Lil, do let me find "Dinah's Baby"

and "Stealin' Melons 'neath de Moon"!'

'No, no,' said Lilian; 'I've shown off quite enough for one day. It's somebody else's turn now. Come along, Dorothy!'

But Dorothy declared she had played everything she knew, with the exception of scales or five-finger exercises, and none of the others could remember anything without their notes, so the piano was closed and the music put away.

'There's your little brother outside, tapping on the gla.s.s,' said Susie.

'What a cherub he looks, with his pink cheeks and little tight brown curls!'

'Sure, I'll let him in, the darlint!' said Kathleen O'Riley, running to open the French window and admit the smiling Bobby, who entered with an expression of such angelic innocence that Peggy's suspicions were instantly aroused.

'I thought you might like some chocolates,' he said winningly, handing a n.o.ble box to Mary Hirst with an air of much generosity.

'Dear little fellow! How sweet of him!' murmured the girls as they collected round with pleased antic.i.p.ation.

Mary opened the box, but dropped it with a howl of dismay, for in place of the tempting sweetmeats she had expected lay a writhing ma.s.s of fat green caterpillars, newly picked from the gooseberry-bushes, a subtle revenge on Bobby's part for his expulsion from the sanctum.

'You wretch!' cried Lilian, endeavouring to catch and chastise the rejoicing offender, who was off through the window and over the wall long before the girls had finished screaming and shaking their skirts.

'He's a broth of a boy!' laughed Kathleen, who rather enjoyed the joke.

'Get out the fire-shovel, Peggy mavourneen, and we'll be after sweeping them up from the carpet. They're too soft and juicy to be treading under foot.'

'What shall we do now?' asked Susie, sinking back luxuriously into the basket-chair, when the contents of the chocolate-box had been successfully removed.

'Suppose we play at nonsense verses,' said Lilian, tearing a few pages from an exercise-book, and hunting out a supply of pencils. 'You all know the famous one about the lady of Riga:

"There was a young lady of Riga, Who smiled as she rode on the tiger; They came home from their ride With the lady inside, And the smile on the face of the tiger."

Well, the game is this. We each write down the name of a person we all know on a slip of paper; they are folded up and shuffled, and everybody draws one, and you must write a nonsense rhyme about the person whose name you find upon your particular slip. Then we elect a president and read them out.'

'It sounds dreadfully difficult,' sighed Lucy. 'I'm not at all clever at poetry.'

'Oh, never mind, _do_ try;' said Peggy, dealing out the pencils. 'It's ever such fun when once you begin.'

The names were written out, the papers shuffled and drawn, and for ten minutes or more the girls sat knitting their brows and biting their pencils in all the agonies of composition. When everyone had finished the slips were folded up and placed in a basket, and Lilian, who had been chosen to read the effusions, shut her eyes and drew one out at a venture. The name was 'Mademoiselle,' and the lines ran as follows:

'There once was a French mademoiselle Who thought she knew English quite well.

When she meant "I am happy,"

She said "I am snappy,"

Which made us all laugh, I can tell.'

The girls t.i.ttered, for Mademoiselle's mistakes in English were a by-word all over the school.

'I wonder who wrote that!' said Susie, with an innocent air.

'Don't give yourself away, my dear,' answered Evelyn. 'We can all guess now.'

The next paper was headed 'Mary Hirst.'

'There was a wild schoolgirl named Hirst, Who of all the bad pupils was worst, Till she started to cram For the Cambridge exam., And, to everyone's surprise, came out first.'

'I hope that's a true prophecy,' laughed Mary, who was studying hard for the Senior Local.

'This writing is not very clear,' said Lilian, unfolding another slip and reading: 'Peggy.'

'There was a young lady named Peg, Who was terribly strong in the leg: With the boys in a race She could set her own pace; But pray do not name it, I beg.'

'That's your own, Lilian,' said the astute Kathleen, 'for you said the writing was hard to make out, and yet you read it straight off, quite glibly.'

'You may guess as you like, but I shan't tell,' replied the president sternly.

The fourth paper was described 'Herr Fruhl.'

'There was an old German named Fruhl, Who a respirator wore as a rule.