The child still slunk.

‘That’s a fine fellow, out with it!’ said Mr. Sponge, taking up his hat to be off.

‘Now, then!’ exclaimed his host again.

‘Coming!’ replied Mr. Sponge.

As if to thwart him, the child then began, Mrs. Jogglebury holding up her forefinger as well in admiration as to keep silence: 

    ’Obin and Ichard, two pretty men,
    Lay in bed till ’e clock struck ten;
    Up starts Obin, and looks at the sky—­’

And then the brat stopped.

‘Very beautiful!’ exclaimed Mr. Sponge; ’very beautiful!  One of Moore’s, isn’t it?  Thank you, my little dear, thank you,’ added he, chucking him under the chin, and putting on his hat to be off.

‘O, but stop, Mr. Sponge!’ exclaimed Mrs. Jogglebury, ’you haven’t heard it all—­there’s more yet.’

Then turning to the child, she thus attempted to give him the cue.

‘O, ho! bother—­’

‘Now, then! time’s hup!’ again shouted Jogglebury into the passage.

‘O dear, Mr. Jogglebury, will you hold your stoopid tongue!’ exclaimed she, adding, ‘you certainly are the most tiresome man under the sun.’  She then turned to the child with: 

‘O ho! bother Ichard’ again.

But the child was mute, and Mr. Sponge fearing, from some indistinct growling that proceeded from the carriage, that a storm was brewing, endeavoured to cut short the entertainment by exclaiming: 

’Wonderful two-year-old!  Pity he’s not in the Darby.  Dare say he’ll tell me the rest when I come back.’

But this only added fuel to the fire of Mrs. Jogglebury’s ardour, and made her more anxious that Sponge should not lose a word of it.  Accordingly she gave the fat dumpling another jerk up on her arm, and repeated: 

‘O ho! bother Ichard, the—­What’s very high?’ asked Mrs. Jogglebury coaxingly.

‘Sun’s very high,’

replied the child.

‘Yes, my darling!’ exclaimed the delighted mamma.  Mrs. Jogglebury then proceeded with: 

                     ‘Ou go before—­’
    CHILD.—­’With bottle and bag,’
    MAMMA.—­’And I’ll follow after—­’
    CHILD.—­’With ‘ittle Jack Nag.’

‘Well now, that is wonderful!’ exclaimed Mr. Sponge, hurrying on his dog-skin gloves, and wishing both Obin and Ichard farther.

‘Isn’t it!’ exclaimed Mrs. Jogglebury, in ecstasies; then addressing the child, she said, ’Now that is a good boy—­that is a fine fellow.  Now couldn’t he say it all over by himself, doesn’t he think?’ Mrs. Jogglebury looking at Sponge, as if she was meditating the richest possible treat for him.

‘Oh,’ replied Mr. Sponge, quite tired of the detention, ’he’ll tell me it when I return—­he’ll tell me it when I return,’ at the same time giving the child another parting chuck under the chin.  But the child was not to be put off in that way, and instead of crouching, and nestling, and hiding its face, it looked up quite boldly, and after a little hesitation went through ‘Obin and Ichard,’ to the delight of Mrs. Jogglebury, the mortification of Sponge, and the growling denunciations of old Jog, who still kept his place in the vehicle.  Mr. Sponge could not but stay the poem out.