"Aunt Polly Fiddlesticks!" he jeered. "She doesn't know what she's talking about. Why, the more eggs I eat, the more time I must spend at the henhouse. And while I'm there I can't throw stones here, can I?"
Everybody had to agree with the Major. At least, everybody but Mr. Crow remarked that what he said seemed true.
"Now, friends," said Major Monkey at last, "if there have been any eggs missing from your nests lately you can't blame me."
"Then whom can we blame?" somebody cried.
"I'd hate to say," was Major Monkey's answer. But since he looked straight at Mr. Crow as he spoke, most of the company could not help thinking that the old gentleman was the thief, after all. And when he flew into a rage they felt quite sure he was guilty.
"We always knew Mr. Crow was an old rascal!" they exclaimed.
And so Mr. Crow took himself off. But he soon recovered his good spirits. He was used to being called names. And to tell the truth, he had taken a few eggs now and then—when he thought no one was watching.
