_Miss Lydia Banks_ (“_though very young, Will never do what’s rude or wrong._”--_Ditto._) _Farmer Banks_ } By the Brothers GRIFFITHS. _Farmer Banks’s Bull_ } _Chorus of Farm Hands._ SCENE.--_A Farmyard._ R. _a stall from which the head of the Bull is visible above the half-door. Enter_ Farmer BANKS _with a cudgel_. _Farmer B._ (_moodily_). When roots are quiet, and cereals are dull, I vent my irritation on the Bull. [_We have_ Miss TAYLOR’S _own authority for this rhyme_. Come hup, you beast! [_Opens stall and flourishes cudgel--the Bull comes forward with an air of deliberate defiance._ Oh, turning narsty, is he? [_Apologetically to Bull._ Another time will do! I see you’re busy! [_The Bull, after some consideration, decides to accept this retractation, and retreats with dignity to his stall, the door of which he carefully fastens after him. Exit_ Farmer BANKS, L., _as_ LYDIA BANKS _enters_ R. _accompanied by Chorus. The Bull exhibits the liveliest interest in her proceedings, as he looks on, with his forelegs folded easily upon the top of the door._ _Song_--LYDIA BANKS (_in Polka time_). I’m the child by Miss Jane Taylor sung; Unnaturally good for one so young-- A pattern for the people that I go among, With my moral little tags on the tip of my tongue. And I often feel afraid that I shan’t live long, For I never do a thing that’s rude or wrong! _Chorus_ (_to which the Bull beats time_). As a general rule, one _doesn’t_ live long, If you never do a thing that’s rude or wrong! _Second Verse._ My words are all with wisdom fraught, To make polite replies I’ve sought; And learned by independent thought, That a pinafore, inked, is good for nought. So wonderfully well have I been taught, That I turn my toes as children ought! _Chorus_ (_to which the Bull dances_). This moral lesson she’s been taught-- She turns her toes as children ought! _Lydia_ (_sweetly_). Yes, I’m the Farmer’s daughter--Lydia Banks; No person ever caught me playing pranks! I’m loved by all the live-stock on the farm, [_Ironical applause from the Bull._ Pigeons I’ve plucked will perch upon my arm, And pigs at my approach sit up and beg. [_Business by Bull._ For me the partial peacock saves his egg, No sheep e’er snaps if _I_ attempt to touch her, Lambs _like_ it when I lead them to the butcher! Each morn I milk my rams beneath the shed, While rabbits flutter twittering round my head, And, as befits a dairy-farmer’s daughter, What milk I get I supplement with water, [_A huge Shadow is thrown on the road outside_; LYDIA _starts_. Whose shadow is it makes the highway darker? That bullet head! those ears! it is----Jack Parker!