In the meantime, as soon as the cloth was removed, the children had
brought out Miss Susannah's harp. She began, without affectation,
to play and sing to the children, as was her custom of an
afternoon, first in their own language, and their national
melodies, then in English; but she was soon interrupted by a
general call of little voices for "Ouf! di giorno." She complied
with the request, and sang the ballad from Paer's Camilla: "Un di
carco il mulinaro." The children were very familiar with every
syllable of this ballad, which had been often fully explained to
them. They danced in a circle with the burden of every verse,
shouting out the chorus with good articulation and joyous energy;
and at the end of the second stanza, where the traveller has his
nose pinched by his grandmother's ghost, every nose in the party
was nipped by a pair of little fingers. Mr. Chainmail, who was not
prepared for the process, came in for a very energetic tweak from a
chubby girl that sprang suddenly on his knees for the purpose, and
made the roof ring with her laughter.

So passed the time till evening, when Mr. Chainmail moved to
depart. But it turned out on inquiry that he was some miles from
his inn, that the way was intricate, and that he must not make any
difficulty about accepting the farmer's hospitality till morning.
The evening set in with rain: the fire was found agreeable; they
drew around it. The young lady made tea; and afterwards, from time
to time, at Mr. Chainmail's special request, delighted his ear with
passages of ancient music. Then came a supper of lake trout, fried
on the spot, and thrown, smoking hot, from the pan to the plate.
Then came a brewage, which the farmer called his nightcap, of which
he insisted on Mr. Chainmail's taking his full share. After which
the gentleman remembered nothing till he awoke, the next morning,