“It’s no use, Stan,” said Louis, in a low voice; “you’ll never get it through his head, and we’re only just wasting our time talking.”
“Wait a minute, Wing,” said Harry; “it’s worth trying. Go ahead, Stan.”
“Listen, Jerry,” said Stanley firmly; “a little girl with long brown hair, all curly, and a red coat. Has she been here?”
The old man’s face lighted with a sudden thought.
“Jerry knows,” he said, while the boys eagerly pressed nearer him. “Little girl so high,” and he measured with his hand; “long hair, red hat, red coat, all cold, came here this morning and played with Jim Crow.”
As Jerry paused, the boys were startled to hear a hoarse caw from above their heads. Looking up, they saw a black head and two bright, beady eyes peering down at them from a beam of the rough wall.
“That’s Jim,” remarked Jerry. “Jim knows Jerry, heard Jerry call.” And in proof of the statement, the bird just then swooped down to his master’s shoulder where he stood, cocking his head this way and that, as he lent a goblin-like attention to the conversation.
“Where is she now?” asked Louis excitedly.
“Gone,” said Jerry, shaking his head, while the crow bent forward and twisted his glossy neck until he could look into his master’s face.
“Where did she go?” inquired Harry.