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“Sometimes,” said the King’s Minstrel. “Mine keep you awake, though, and that’s why they are so much better than anybody else’s.”

“Isn’t it very difficult to compose?” asked Girlie.

“Yes; it requires a great brain like mine to do it properly,” replied the King’s Minstrel conceitedly. “Would you like to hear my latest composition?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” said Girlie, folding her hands in her lap and preparing to listen.

The King’s Minstrel took a roll of music from under his arm and, after coughing importantly, began to sing in a very harsh and discordant voice—

“‘Won’t you walk into my parlour?’ said the spider to the fly,

How I wonder what you are, up above the world so high.

‘I’m going a-milking, sir,’ she said,

And when she got there the poor dog was dead.

“Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie,

Gin a body, kiss a body, need a body cry.

Humpty-dumpty sat on a wall,

And if I don’t hurt her she’ll do me no harm.”

“There! isn’t it lovely?” he asked when he had finished.

“Why, it’s perfect nonsense!” cried Girlie; “it’s just a lot of separate lines from nursery rhymes all strung together; and, besides, there’s no sense in it,” she added.