and louder swelled the chorus. All the while the singing master stood
trembling, shaking his white head hopelessly. "I did not mean for you to
sing," he pleaded, "I only meant my eyes were dim!"
His words merely spurred them on. On surged the voices, bass, soprano,
alto, tenor, in loud and mighty
I did not mean for you to sing,
I only meant my eyes were dim.
The singing master fumbled his woolly wristbands, thrust his hands deep
into pockets of coat and breeches, and peered searchingly about the
little stand where, it was plain to see, was nothing but the songbook
which he had dropped in his confusion. At last his trembling hand sought
the sparse foretop. There, bless you, rested the lost spectacles. He
yanked them to the bridge of his nose, and then, just as though he
didn't know all the time it was Drusilla Osborn behind the prank, he
turned his attention toward that pretty young miss.
"Drusilla"--you'd never suspect what he was up to--"we all favor your
voice in the ditty of My Son John. And you, Jonathan Witchcott, I don't
know of any other fellow that can better sing the part of the courting
man than you yourself. And I'm satisfied that no fairer maid was ever
wooed than Dru yonder. So lead off, lest the other fellow get the best
of you."
Almost before Jonathan was aware of it he was singing, with his eyes
turned yearningly upon Dru:
My man John, what can the matter be,
That I should love the lady fair and she should not love me?
She will not be my bride, my joy nor my dear,
And neither will she walk with me anywhere.
Then, lest a moment be lost, the singing master himself egged on the
swain by singing the part of the man John:
Court her, dearest Master, you court her without fear,
And you will win the lady in the space of half a year;
And she will be your bride, your joy and your dear,
And she will take a walk with you anywhere.
Encouraged by the smiling school, Jonathan Witchcott took up the song,
turning yearningly to Dru who now smiled coyly, head to one side, while
he entreated:
Oh, Madam, I will give to you a little greyhound,
And every hair upon its back shall cost a thousand pound,
If you will be my bride, my joy and my dear,
And you will take a walk with me anywhere.
Scarcely had the last note left his lips when Drusilla, now that all
eyes were turned upon her, sang coquettishly:
Oh, Sir, I won't accept of you a little greyhound,
Though every hair upon its back did cost a thousand pound,
I will not be your bride, your joy nor your dear,
And neither will I walk with you anywhere.
With added fervor Jonathan offered more:
Oh, Madam, I will give you a fine ivory comb,
To fasten up your silver locks when I am not at home.
That too Dru spurned, but all the same she was watching
nervously--indeed Dru was watching anxiously--Tizzie Scaggs, lest she
take up Jonathan's offer, which is another girl's right in the play-game
song.
Quickly Jonathan Witchcott, knowing all this, sang pleadingly:
Oh, Madam, I will give to you the keys of my heart,
To lock it up forever that we never more may part,
If you will be my bride, my joy and my dear.
Whereupon Drusilla, her eyes sparkling, her rosy lips parted temptingly,
sang:
Oh, Sir, I will accept of you the keys of your heart;
I'll lock it up forever and we never more will part,
And I will be your bride, your joy and your dear,
And I will take a walk with you anywhere.
When her last note ended Dru turned demurely toward Jonathan, whereupon
that happy swain leaped to his feet and, extending a hand toward the
singing master, sang:
My man, Philomel Whiffet, here's fifty pounds, for thee,
I'd never have won this lady fair if it hadn't been for thee.
With that the whole singing school cheered and laughed.
Drusilla Osborn was so excited she almost twisted her kerchief into
shreds, for she and all the rest knew that by consenting to sing the
play-game song through she and Jonathan had thereby plighted their
troth. Either could have dropped out on the very second verse if they
had been so inclined. But there, they had sung it through to the end. If
she hadn't Tizzie Scaggs would have leaped at the chance. So now, the
singing master arose and was first to wish them well.
"A life of joy to the Witchcotts!" He bowed profoundly.
Even Mathias Oneby wished his rival happiness. The girls tittered. Older
folks nodded approval.
Then away they all went into the starlit night, trooping homeward
through the snow, Jonathan and Drusilla leading the way.
Philomel Whiffet lingered a moment in the doorway of Bethel church house
chuckling to himself, "Dru's got her just deserts. She had no right to
taynt the two young fellows. I'm pleased I caught her in the snare and
made her choose betwixt them." He wrapped the muffler about his throat
and, drawing on his mittens, the singing master stepped out into the
snow, the coonskin cap drawn lower over his bespectacled eyes. "I'm
proud I caught Dru for Jonathan," he repeated. "She's too peert nowhow
for that shy Mathias Oneby. Women are strange critters when it comes to
courting. And her prankin' like she did over me misplacing my specs."
He went steadily on his way, mittened hands thrust deep into coat
pockets, spectacles firmly on the bridge of his nose. "She had no call
to make mock of me and my specs like she did," Philomel mumbled to
himself as he trudged along.
As for the courting play-game song and the way it turned out for Dru and
Jonathan, that story too traveled far and wide, so that Philomel Whiffet
never lacked for a singing school as long as he lived. That is the
reason, old folks will tell you, you'll come upon so many good singers
to this day along Pigeon Creek.