THE B. OF A C. A P. G.
All the time, through all the noise, Lucy and Major C never moved.
For a little while all was quiet, and when the Fraction came strolling through the wood, to see if the Holiday Fairies had gone, he found the two still sitting under the tree.
He spoke to them, he touched them—they took no notice of him.
“What shall I do?” he said. “I must rouse them somehow.”
He picked up a bit of a stick, and poked first the Major with it, then Lucy; but still they did not move. Then his eyes fell on the Book of Betty Barber, lying on the ground where Half-term had left it.
“I’ll try that,” he said, and he turned over the leaves quickly.
“‘I think C Major is very dull,’” he read out of the book.
The Major jumped up, straightened himself, saluted, and began to speak quickly. “He shall be dull no longer,” he said. “I will inquire into the matter. I will return to Music Land, visit my relations, Major D and E, and F and G, and consult Minors, my ward. I will find out everything about these Sharps and Flats. Excuse me,” he said, bowing to Thirteen-fourteenths, “I must leave you. I have important business on hand. Attention! Quick march! Forward!” And the Major marched away.
“Now, what is he talking about?” said Thirteen-fourteenths.
“He’s going back to do something in Music Land, that’s pretty clear; but what he is going to do is not quite so clear. Anyway, I’ve roused him. I’d better try the book on the lady now.”
Once more he turned over the pages.
“‘No piece of poetry ought to have more than three verses,’” he read. “I, for one, am heartily sick of “Good Little Lucy.”’”
Lucy rubbed her eyes, and stared up at the Fraction.
“I will try,” she said; “I never thought of trying until Half-term suggested it. I will try to get into three verses; then perhaps the boys and girls won’t be sick of me.”
“Oh, it’s Half-term’s been putting these ideas into your head,
