Soon he came to idle about them in the evening, too,
until, one bright moonlight night, as he was grieving over the
wretched, scraggy vines, he heard a tiny, silvery voice quite near him
cry, tauntingly:
"Hello, Nimble Jim! How are your melons?"
Jim would have been very angry at such a question could he have seen
anybody to be angry with; but, though he looked and looked with all
his eyes, not a soul could he see.
"Hello, Nimble Jim! How are your melons? Ha, ha, ha! Melons! melons!
Ha, ha, ha!" And the sweet little voice sang, in a merry, mocking
strain:
"Nice sweet melons!
Round ripe melons!
Nimble Jim likes them, I know.
Mean sour melons,
Crooked green melons,
Nimble Jim only can grow!
Ha, ha, ha! How are your melons, Nimble Jim?"
[Illustration: The Elfin Queen]
"Who are you? What are you? Where are you?" cried Jim, hardly knowing
whether to be angry, amused, or frightened.
"You ask a good many questions at once, don't you?" said the silvery
voice.
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