"Wouldn't I! My mother was maid to Mistress Moll Davies, as King Charles was mad over, though for the matter o' that he was always a runnin' after the women. Anyway, it was that song and the way Moll sung it as won his heart. Ah, them days is past an' I'm afeared as I mustn't speak well of 'em or I'd be called a 'Jack,' clapped into Newgate or sent to Bridewell and lashed. But give me 'Lodging on the Cold Ground' an' I'll tell ye what I think. But I warn ye, mother copied Mrs. Davies an' 'll know how it ought to be sung." Lavinia laughed to herself. She was quite sure if she could satisfy Mr. Gay and Dr. Pepusch she could please Betty Higgins. "Them old songs," went on Betty, warming to her subject, "touches the 'eart and makes the tears come. But you don't hear 'em at the fine concerts. I'll go bail as there beant a woman now-a-days as can make a man fall in love with her 'cause of her singin'." "I wonder," said Lavinia musingly. "Well now, let me take in the clothes an' we'll have a dish o' tea an' a bite and then you shall sing your song." "Yes, and I'll help you with the clothes." Lavinia's offer pleased Betty, and the two were soon busy pulling the various garments and bits of drapery from the lines and gathering from the grass others that had been set to bleach in the wind and sun. This done they entered the cottage. The window was small and the light dim. A white-haired old woman was warming her hands and crooning over a wood fire. "Eh, mother," cried Betty, "I've brought someone to sing to ye. 'Lodgin' on the Cold Ground,' do ye remember that old ditty?" "Do I mind it? Why, to be sure. But who sings it now-a-days? Nobody." "Well, ye're going to hear it, and ye'll have to say if this young miss here trolls it as well as Moll Davies used to." "What stuff ye be talkin', Betty," retorted the old woman. "Nobody can. I can remember my mistress a-singin' it as well as if it was only yesterday." "Do ye hear that--I've forgotten what name Hannah told me yours was?" "Lavinia Fenton. But please call me Lavinia." "So I will. Now sit ye down, Lavinia, and talk to mother while I brew the tea." Lavinia was rather dismayed at finding she was to pit herself against the fascinating Moll whose charms had conquered the Merry Monarch--possibly no very arduous task. The old lady was past eighty, but in possession of all her faculties. When she said she remembered Moll Davies' singing perfectly well she probably spoke the truth. Tea was over. Betty cleared away and Lavinia at her request--to be correct--at her command, sang, keeping her eyes fixed on the old lady and so to speak singing _at_ her. Before long the aged dame was mopping her eyes, and when Lavinia had finished the pathetic ballad she stretched out both her wrinkled hands towards the girl and in a quivering voice said:--