“Bobby Bingo,” corrected Bess, severely. “You should call things by their proper name, Hals.”
“It was a game about a dog, and we came up, and all said together,” continued Hals unmoved—
“‘A farmer’s dog lay on the floor,
And Bingo was his name O.
B-I-N-G-O, B-I-N-G-O,
And Bingo was his name O.’
I cannot exactly say how that was played,” said Hals, puzzled, “but we danced and we sang, and one girl stood straight up in the middle, as if she had a punishment lesson to say. And when I’m grown up, I will get my father to buy me a dog, and I will call him Bingo.”
“Now I want to talk,” cried Bess, impatiently, “because I, too, know some of the games. We’ve often played at them, Nana and I and the maids, on Saturday afternoon when it was wet. There was Bell-horses. Nobody is so silly, mamsie, unless it’s members of parliament or governesses, as not to know ‘Bell-horses.’”
Then my little maid slipped off the wooden bench on which she had been swinging her feet, and went and stood by little Harry.
“Listen,” she cried, and blurted forth at double quick pace—