Nurse Brown always fell foul of Jimmy’s toes. They fidgeted her, for they were never still. In fact Jimmy’s toes, which had never probed the recesses of a pair of boots, were more like fingers and thumbs, and had a way of twiddling about when he was supposed to be standing still—stand perfectly still he never did—and these toes belonged to feet that in climbing he could use like hands. More than once I’ve seen him pick stones off the ground—just like a monkey, nurse said—or stand talking to any one and keep his attention while he helped himself to something he wanted with his feet.
“There, be off Jimmy,” I said, for I wanted to stop indoors.
“Come kedge fis.”
“No, not to-day.”
“Hi—wup—wup—wup!”
Jimmy threw himself into an attitude, snatching a small hatchet from the waistband of his trousers, and made believe to climb a tree, chop a hole larger, and draw out an animal, which he seemed to be swinging round by its tail.
“No, not to-day, Jimmy,” I cried.
“Sleep, sleep,” said Jimmy, imitating a kangaroo by giving a couple of hops into the verandah, where he chose a sunny place, well haunted by flies, curled up, and went to sleep.
“Good morning!” cried a hearty voice, and I ran out to welcome our neighbour the doctor, whose horse’s hoofs had not been heard, and who was now fastening the rein to the hook in one of the verandah posts.
“Well, Joe,” he said as I shook hands and looked up admiringly in his bold well-bearded face.