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'Coming, Jog! coming!' replied Mrs. Crowdey, with a frown on her brow at
the untimely interruption; then appealing again to the child, who was
nestling in his mother's bosom, as if disinclined to show off, she said,
'Now, my darling, let the gentleman hear how nicely you'll say it.'
The child still slunk.
'That's a fine fellow, out with it!' said Mr. Sponge, taking up his hat to
be off.
'Now, then!' exclaimed his host again.
'Coming!' replied Mr. Sponge.
As if to thwart him, the child then began, Mrs. Jogglebury holding up her
forefinger as well in admiration as to keep silence:
'Obin and Ichard, two pretty men,
Lay in bed till 'e clock struck ten;
Up starts Obin, and looks at the sky--'
And then the brat stopped.
'Very beautiful!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge; 'very beautiful! One of Moore's,
isn't it? Thank you, my little dear, thank you,' added he, chucking him
under the chin, and putting on his hat to be off.
'O, but stop, Mr. Sponge!' exclaimed Mrs. Jogglebury, 'you haven't heard it
all--there's more yet.


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