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"Then here goes!" said Goggins, who started another long ballad about Jimmy Barlow, in the opening of which all joined. It ran as follows: "My name it is Jimmy Barlow, I was born in the town of Carlow, And here I lie in the Maryborough jail, All for the robbing of the Wicklow mail. Fol de rol de rol de riddle-ido!"
Sweyn's face glowed with delight, while Christian's grew pale and rigid as death. He had given his word to keep silence; but he had not thought that she would dare to come again. Silence was impossible, face to face with that Thing, impossible. Irrepressibly he cried out: "Where is Rol?" Not a quiver disturbed White Fell's face. She heard, yet remained bright and tranquil.
But over-eager, over-brutal, he harried the sullen, splendid slave till in mid-race just when in a way to win it turned at a cruel blow, and Rol took refuge under the upturned sled until it had vented its rage against the wood; and so he lost the race, and the winner was the young White Storbuk.
Loman waited patiently for a quarter of an hour, when the boy returned. "Oh!" said he, "the governor can't see you, he says. He's a-smoking his pipe, he says, and he ain't a-goin' to put himself about, he says, for the likes of you. That's what he says! Ti ridde tol rol ro!" and here the youth indulged in a spitefully cheerful carol as he resumed the polishing of the mugs.
And the idle brain lay passive, inert, receiving into its vacancy restless siftings of past sights and sounds: Rol, weeping, laughing, playing, coiled in the arms of that dreadful Thing: Tyr O Tyr! white fangs in the black jowl: the women who wept on The foolish puppy, precious for the child's last touch: footprints from pine wood to door: the smiling face among furs, of such womanly beauty smiling smiling: and Sweyn's face.
"`There was a man in Bristol city, Fol de rol de riddle-lol-de-ri. And that's the first o' this here ditty, Fol de rol de-riddle-lol-de-ri. "Say, Mas' Don, 'tarn't so bad, after all." "It's terrible, Jem!" panted Don, "Can we do it?" "Can we do it? Ha, ha, ha!" cried Jem. "Can we do it? Hark at him! We're just the boys as can do it.
'Now a plague of their votes Upon Papists and Plots, And be d d Doctor Oates. Tol de rol." "Nay, but our Puritanic host," said Ganlesse. "I have him in my pocket, man his eyes, ears, nose, and tongue," answered his boon companion, "are all in my possession." "In that case, when you give him back his eyes and nose, I pray you keep his ears and tongue," answered Ganlesse.
'Of a broken heart, some of our old nurses told me, replied Oliver: more as if he were talking to himself, than answering Noah. 'I think I know what it must be to die of that! 'Tol de rol lol lol, right fol lairy, Work'us, said Noah, as a tear rolled down Oliver's cheek. 'What's set you a snivelling now? 'Not you, replied Oliver, sharply. 'There; that's enough.
He remembered how once Sweyn had come home with his arm torn down from the shoulder, and a dead bear; and how he had never winced nor said a word, though his lips turned white with pain. Poor little Rol gave another sighing sob over his own faint-hearted shortcomings.
Their school-fellows, however, work sad havoc with these high-sounding titles and quickly abbreviate them into humble "Cad" or "Rol." It is surprising to notice what a number of middle-aged gentlemen have blossomed out of late with decorations in their button-holes according to the foreign fashion.
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