“Depend upon it, my friend,” said my father, “it is the magpie who is the thief.”
“Easier said than proved, dear sir,” replied the doctor. “I know this, however, that I would not keep a bird capable of such thefts. But I am surprised, Mr. Mitford, that you should suggest such a solution of the mystery. It is quite a vulgar error to suppose that magpies are thieves of anything but that which contributes to their sustenance. If a magpie will take one bright thing he will take another. There is a silver pencil-case,” said the incredulous doctor, placing it on the table, when, to his great surprise, the bird, that had hitherto been immovable, hopped from my father’s shoulder to the armchair. “Now, sir, if the bird took my glasses, and if it is his nature to steal, he will soon possess himself of the pencil-case.”
“Not when he is observed, perhaps. Jack, like human thieves, doesn’t like his evil propensities to be seen.”
“Then let us all three retire and leave the magpie with the pencil-case. What then?”
“Why, that when we return you will find the bird and the case both flown.”
“A bargain, sir!” said the doctor, quite pleased that he should soon have the satisfaction of proving my father in the wrong.
We all retired to the dining-room, and had a little agreeable talk about magpies, and the plot that had been laid to discover whether Jack was a thief or not.
An hour later I asked whether I should go and look after the bird and the case.
“No, thanks, Master Charles,” said the doctor, “I object to that; you are home for the holidays. We will all go together when your father is prepared.”
“I am quite ready, sir.”