She stood for a minute, listening; then walked in without more ado,
set down her baskets in the passage, and pushed open the door of the
bar-room. There was a whole crowd of men gathered inside, and the
place thick with tobacco-smoke. And in the middle of this crew, with
his back to the door, sat her husband piping out a song:
Ye sexes, give ear to my fancy;
In the praise of good women I sing;
It is not of Doll, Kate, or Nancy,
The mate of a clown nor a King--
With my fol-de-rol, tooral-i-lay!
Old Adam, when he was creyated,
Was lord of the Universe round;
Yet his happiness was not complated
Until that a helpmate he'd found.
With my fol-de-rol, tooral-i-lay!
He had all things for food that was wanting,
Which give us content in this life;
He had horses and foxes for hunting,
Which many love more than a wife,--
He had sung so far and was waving his pipe-stem for the chorus when
the company looked up and saw Sal straddling in the doorway with her
fists on her hips. The sight daunted them for a moment: but she held
up a finger, signing them to keep the news to themselves, and leaned
her shoulder against the doorpost with her eyes steady on the back of
her husband's scrag neck.
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