"It reminds
me of the alligator that tried to whistle."
"Did he succeed, Bilbil?" asked the King.
"He whistled as well as you sing."
"Ha, ha, ha, ha, heek, keek, eek!" chuckled the King.
"He must have whistled most exquisitely, eh, my
friend?"
"I am not your friend," returned the goat, wagging
his ears in a surly manner.
"I am yours, however," was the King's cheery reply;
"and to prove it I'll sing you another verse."
"Don't, I beg of you!"
But the King sang as follows:
"The wind blew off the maiden's shoe --
Sing too-ral-oo-ral-i-do!
And the shoe flew high to the sky so blue
And the maiden knew 'twas a new shoe, too;
But she couldn't pursue the shoe, 'tis true-
Sing too-ral-oo-ral-i-do!
"Isn't that sweet, my pretty goat?"
"Sweet, do you ask?" retorted Bilbil. "I consider it
as sweet as candy made from mustard and vinegar."
"But not as sweet as your disposition, I admit. Ah,
Bilbil, your temper would put honey itself to shame."
"Do not quarrel, I beg of you," pleaded Inga. "Are we
not sad enough already?"
"But this is a jolly quarrel," said the King, "and it
is the way Bilbil and I often amuse ourselves. Listen,
now, to the last verse of all:
"The maid who shied her shoe now cried --
Sing too-ral-oo-ral-i-do!
Her tears were fried for the Captain's bride
Who ate with pride her sobs, beside,
And gently sighed 'I'm satisfied' --
Sing to-ral-oo-ral-i-do!"
"Worse and worse!" grumbled Bilbil, with much scorn.
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