“No,” corrected Nancy, “that wasn’t the next. The next was the one which got away for three days, and then the postman brought it back. Then came the one that swallowed the thimble, and then, the day after mother had said we were not to have another there came a strange one to Andrew’s cottage, and he brought it here for us.”
There was a little dispute about the order in which the jackdaws came, which led the conversation quite away from the doctor’s loss. But after dinner, when the children were in the garden, Ambrose began to talk of it again.
“I wish,” he said to David, “we could think of a way to help him to get it back.”
David did not answer at first. He was looking at Andrew, who was sweeping the path at a little distance. Swish, swish, went his broom to right and left amongst the yellow leaves, leaving a bare space in the middle.
“Let’s ask Andrew,” said David suddenly.
Fortunately Andrew was in a good temper, and though he did not leave off sweeping he listened to the story with attention.
“We want your advice,” said Ambrose when he had done.
Andrew stopped his broom for an instant, took off his tall black hat, and gazed into its depths silently.
“I should try a call-bird, master,” he said as he put it on again.
“A call-bird?” repeated both the boys together.