Presently I expressed surprise that Jasperson had the honour of Miss
Dutton's unofficial acquaintance.
"I was interdooced last fall," said our friend, "at a candy-pullin' up
to Mis' Swiggart's. Not that Miss Birdie was a-pullin' candy. No, sir;
she ain't built that a way, but she was settin' there kind of
scornful, but smilin' An' later she an' me sung some hymns together.
Mebbe, gen'lemen, ye've heard Miss Birdie sing?"
I shook my head regretfully, but Ajax spoke enthusiastically of the
lady's powers as a vocalist. He had previously described her voice to
me as "a full choke, warranted to kill stone-dead at sixty yards."
"It is a lovely voice," sighed Jasperson, "strong, an' full, an' rich.
Why, there ain't an organ in the county can down her high B!" Then,
warmed by my brother's sympathy, he fumbled in his pocket, and found a
sheet of note-paper. Upon this he had written a quatrain that he
proposed to read to us _au clair de la lune_. The lines were
addressed: "To My Own Blackbird."
"She's a pernounced brunette," explained the poet; "and her name is
Birdie. I thought some of entitlin' the pome: 'To a Mocking Bird'; but
I surmised that would sound too pussonal.
Pages:
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108