When they were weary of jumping about and shouting, the hemp-beater
meditated a capitulation. He went back to his window, opened it
cautiously, and hailed the discomfited besiegers with a roar of
laughter:

"Well, my boys," he said, "you're pretty sheepish, aren't you? You
thought that nothing could be easier than to break in here, and you
have discovered that our defences are strong. But we are beginning to
have pity on you, if you choose to submit and accept our conditions."


THE GRAVE-DIGGER.

Speak, my good friends; tell us what we must do to be admitted to your
fireside.


THE HEMP-BEATER.

You must sing, my friends, but sing some song that we don't know, and
that we can't answer with a better one.

"Never you fear!" replied the grave-digger, and he sang in a powerful
voice:

"'_Tis six months since the spring-time_,"

"_When I walked upon the springing grass_," replied the hemp-beater, in
a somewhat hoarse but awe-inspiring voice. "Are you laughing at us, my