"I can't sing," replied Vanslyperken.

"You shall sing, by the piper who played before Moses," said the virago;
"if not, you shall sing out to some purpose;" and the red-hot poker was
again brandished in her masculine fist, and she advanced to him, saying,
"suppose we hargue that point?"

"Would you murder me, woman?"

"No; singing is no murder, but we ax a song, and a song we must have."

"I don't know one--upon my honour I don't," cried Vanslyperken.

"Then, we'll larn you. And now you repeat after me."

"'Poll put her arms a-kimbo.' Sing--come, out with it." And the poker
was again advanced.

"O God!" cried Vanslyperken.

"Sing, or by Heavens I'll shorten your nose! Sing, I say," repeated the
woman, advancing the poker so as actually to singe the skin.

"Take it away, and I will," cried Vanslyperken, breathless.

"Well then, 'Poll put her arms a-kimbo.'"

"'Poll put her arms a-kimbo,'" repeated Vanslyperken.

"That's saying, not singing," cried the woman. "Now again. 'At the