The children had books and lessons, fishing and gathering sea-moss and shells for their occupations, and on days of blinding fog, or unusually fierce wind, they always sought Humpty Dumpty Land, where they played with dolls, arranged their collections, used their tools, cut out and pasted pictures, or dressed up Jim Crow with beads and ribbons, sometimes tying a long silken trail to his inky feathers and seeing him walk about the attic, mincing along like an elderly lady on a slippery ballroom floor.
“Ho! ho! ho!
Old Jim Crow,
You’re the funniest kind of a bird,
I ever did know!”
sang Ronald one morning when they had dressed their pet to particular advantage.
“Oh, Ronnie!” cried Lesley, “that’s not a good verse.”
“Why not, then? It sounds good to me.”
“No, it’s too long in the middle. It ought to be,
“Ho! ho! ho!