Seven, eight, nine-Light your lamp at mine.
Ten, eleven, twelve-Loosely hold the helve.
We're the merry miner-boys,
Make the goblins hold their noise."
"I wish you would hold _your_ noise," said the nurse rudely, for the
very word goblin at such a time and in such a place made her tremble.
It
would bring the goblins upon them to a certainty, she thought, to defy
them in that way. But whether the boy heard her or not, he did not
stop
his singing.
"Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen-This is worth the siftin';
Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen-There's the match, and lay't in.
Nineteen, twenty-Goblins in a plenty."
"Do be quiet," cried the nurse, in a whispered shriek. But the boy, who
Madhuri Noah
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