"One man bin deh (there), since w'en he born tay to-day, he hair white. Yo' sabbee (know) dat?" The conundrum was familiar and easy, and one of the smaller boys, who happened to be listening, answered at once: "Cotton".
There was a general stir among the pickaninnies, for here was something within their mental grasp, and they left the dog to sleep undisturbed, and ceased to play with the tame little ground-squirrel which Gengah had brought, partly to exhibit to the other children, but chiefly because he and the squirrel had become boon companions. The minds were all intent as Soree propounded this riddle:
"One ole man he inside ho'se, but he bear'-bear' (beard) come out nah do' (door)."
There was a puzzled silence until Oleemah, who sat nearest the door, and whose eyes were filled with the smoke that sought exit from the smouldering fire, started up with kindling face and exclaimed: "Eh, hey! Ladder wey (which) pusson no duh klim."
This second conundrum, familiar to some present, and requiring the same word for solution as the preceding, was uttered in so triumphant a tone that a chorus of voices called out the double reply: "Smoke," and the few who were less rapid in thought echoed the word with equal gusto.
Now came Mammy Mamenah with the following:
"De king he get ho'se, do'-mout' (door-mouth) no deh, windah no deh, but pusson duh talk inside."
This no one could guess, and Mammy was obliged to point to a hen sitting on a nest at one end of the mud bed and say wisely: "Dat pusson duh sabbee; one week tem he go hearee de talk."
The patient brooder looked around as if to corroborate the woman's testimony, and as if thinking of the baby peeps that would announce her long vigil ended, and more active work begun.