the shop-window, delivered it to her first customer.

"No matter for the money," said she, giving him a little push
towards the door; for her old gentility was contumaciously
squeamish at sight of the copper coin, and, besides, it seemed
such pitiful meanness to take the child's pocket-money in exchange
for a bit of stale gingerbread. "No matter for the cent. You are
welcome to Jim Crow."

The child, staring with round eyes at this instance of liberality,
wholly unprecedented in his large experience of cent-shops, took
the man of gingerbread, and quitted the premises. No sooner had
he reached the sidewalk (little cannibal that he was!) than Jim
Crow's head was in his mouth. As he had not been careful to
shut the door, Hepzibah was at the pains of closing it after him,
with a pettish ejaculation or two about the troublesomeness of
young people, and particularly of small boys. She had just placed
another representative of the renowned Jim Crow at the window,
when again the shop-bell tinkled clamorously, and again the door
being thrust open, with its characteristic jerk and jar, disclosed
the same sturdy little urchin who, precisely two minutes ago, had
made his exit. The crumbs and discoloration of the cannibal feast,
as yet hardly consummated, were exceedingly visible about his mouth.

"What is it now, child?" asked the maiden lady rather impatiently;
"did you Come back to shut the door?"

"No," answered the urchin, pointing to the figure that had just
been put up; "I want that other Jim Crow."