“THE page was pretty brave,” said Roland. “When I was little I used to be scared of the dark, and my mother taught me a poem about being brave.”
“Oh, say it for us, please!” cried a girl near him.
The boy shook his head in refusal, but Mary Frances gave him a smile and said, encouragingly, “Please, I want to hear it.”
Then Roland rose, made a bow, and recited his poem:
If I Could Crow
Sometimes I waken up at night,
And cannot see a speck of light;
I snuggle down into my bed,
And pull the clothes in overhead.
I look and peer into the dark,