"Strike! ding! ding!
Strike! ding! ding!
The iron glows,
And loveth good blows
As fire doth bellows.
Strike! ding! ding!"
Now seeing he was determined to give me no chance to speak, I presently seated myself close by, and fell to singing likewise. Oddly enough, the only thing I could recall, on the moment, was the Tinker's song, and that but very imperfectly; yet it served my purpose well enough. Thus we fell to it with a will, the different notes clashing, and filling the air with a most vile discord, and the words all jumbled up together, something in this wise:
"Strike! ding! ding!
A tinker I am, O
Strike! ding! ding!
A tinker am I
The iron it glows,
A tinker I'll live
And loveth good blows,
And a tinker I'll die.
As fire doth bellows.
If the King in his crown
Strike! d
