"It is a sad tale," said the Subaltern. "It is like 'Gelert,' 'The Arab's Farewell to his Steed,' 'The Falcon of Ser Federigo,' 'Ginevra,' and that sort of thing. Poignant."
"Lucy Gray," murmured the President.
"Precisely. In fact that was the Virtuous Tiger's name among the Simple Villagers. Exactly.
"I met a little cottage loaf,
Er—. . ."
"No—that's 'We are Seven,' and it wasn't a cottage loafer. Cottage girl,' corrected the President.
"Quite so. My mistake. But some are, you know. 'Specially in villages like London. Let's see. Lucy Gray. . . . Wasn't it she who dwelt in beauty side by side, or beside the cottage door—while by her sported on the green her giddy grandpa Might-have-been."
"No, Buster, it was not. But what about the Virtuous Tiger? Never mind the other Lucy now."
"Buck up, Buthter, pleathe," adjured the Vice.
