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Colette went up to the communion table. Her stick made a little clickety noise on the flagstones. When she was on her knees the girl who had gone up to the table with her came back to us with the stick. She knew that it would be of no further use. Colette tried to get up, and fell back again on to her knees.
Corporal Wells described the game as one where the winner "'ollers 'ouse and the rest 'ollers 'ell!" Some of the nicknames for the different numbers remind one of the slang of the crap shooter. For instance, "Kelly's eye" means one. "Clickety click" is sixty-six. "Top of the house" is ninety.
While the bul-bul is a companionable little fellow and possessed of a cheery voice, his warble in no respects resembles the charming singing of the nightingale, and why he should be mentioned in connection with the sweet midnight songster of the English woodlands is something of a mystery. His song is a mere "clickety click" repeated rapidly several times.
"Catkin dear," says the little girl, "I do want to get out of this, for Baba Yaga is going to eat me with her iron teeth." "Well," says the cat, "I will help you." Just then Baba Yaga came to the window. "Are you weaving, little niece?" she asked. "Are you weaving, my pretty?" "I am weaving, auntie," says the little girl, working away, while the loom went clickety clack, clickety clack.
The first one to finish wins, and collects a penny from each of the losers. The caller drones out the numbers with a monotony only equalled by the brain-fever bird, and quite as disastrous to the nerves. There are certain conventional nicknames: number one is always "Kelley's eye," eleven is "legs eleven," sixty-six is "clickety click," and the highest number is "top o' the 'ouse."
But when she does, you must listen; and as soon as she is close to you throw away the comb, and it will sprout up into such a forest that she will never get through it at all." "But she'll hear the loom stop," says the little girl. "I'll see to that," says the thin black cat. The cat took the little girl's place at the loom. Clickety clack, clickety clack; the loom never stopped for a moment.
'Heave and she comes! 'Heave and she must! 'Heave and bust her! are grunted from the men straining at the longbars of the capstan, which winds the tightening cable in. 'Click, click, clickety, click' go the pawls, which drop every few inches into cavities that, keeping them from slipping back, prevent the capstan from turning the wrong way when the men pause to take breath.
She seemed to me to be taller than usual, in her white apron and white cuffs. She walked slowly, looking at us all. The rosary, which hung at her side, made a little clickety sound, and her skirt swung a little as she walked. She went up the three steps to her desk, and made a sign to us to sit down. In the afternoon she took us out for a walk in the country. It was very hot.
Clickety clack, clickety clack, sang the loom; but you never saw such a tangle as the tangle made by the thin black cat. And presently Baba Yaga came to the window. "Are you weaving, little niece?" she asked. "Are you weaving, my pretty?" "I am weaving, auntie," says the thin black cat, tangling and tangling, while the loom went clickety clack, clickety clack.
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