’O!’ cried Catherine, ’I grant you that, with an angel, the manner spices the lesson. I will tell you, girls, how he rebuked me yesterday on this same legend of reciprocity. "How could you take sport," says he, "of witnessing that poor Montano’s punishment?" "Why, very well," says I, "seeing he was a man, and therefore my natural enemy." "How is man so?" says he. "He makes me bear his children for him," says I. "But I suppose he will be made to suffer _his_ share of the toil in this new Commonwealth of love." "You talk like a child," he says. "Then," says I, "I will sing like a woman," and I extemporised—very clever, you will admit.’ She pinched up her skirts, and put out a little foot, and chirruped, in no voice at all, but with a sauce of impudence:— ’"Love is give and take," says he, "Every gander knows— Wear the prickle for my sake; For thine, I’ll wear the rose." "_Grazie_, kind and true," says I, "For that noble dower— Only, between me and you, _I_ should like the flower." "And hast thou not it?" cries St. Bernardo, interrupting me; and, would you believe it, swinging round his lute, his lips and his finger-tips join issue in the prettiest nonsense ever conceived for a poor wife’s fooling. Wait, and I will recall it.’ She had the quickest wit and memory, and in a moment was chaunting:— ’"Whence did our bird-soft baby come? How learned to prattle of this for home? Some sleepy nurse-angel let her stray, And she found herself in the world one day. She heard nurse calling, and further fled: She hid herself in our cabbage bed. There we came on her fast asleep, What could we do but take and keep, Carry her in and up the stair? She would have died of cold out there. She woke at once in a little fright; But Love beckoned her from the light. Lure we had lit, for dear love fain; She had seen it shine through the window pane. Lure we had kindled of flame and bliss, To catch such a little ghost-moth as this. Ah, me! it shrivelled her pretty wing. Here she must stay, poor thing, poor thing!"’