At Ronald’s query, Lesley gave a long look at her pet, who was doing hard labor trying to break a button in two, at the same time crooning to himself in a low tone, “Crows have no pretty buttons! Crows ought to have pretty buttons! Poor Jim Crow!”
“Oh, no, Ronnie,” cried Lesley; “Jim would never steal anything of mine; he loves me too well. Don’t you, Jimmy?”
“Croak!” answered Master Crow, but he evidently felt that the conversation was becoming too personal, for he left the room at once in his most dignified manner. He did not mention that he held a small red button in his beak, but, as he said afterwards, “What’s a button between friends?”
“I’m going right down to Father and see what he thinks,” cried Ronnie, running after Jim Crow.
“No, no, Ronnie! Don’t tell Father! I’m sure Jim never took my necklace!” called Lesley, in distress.
Ronald was already halfway downstairs and heard not a word his sister said in his haste to find Father, who was discovered at length in the doorway of Jenny Lind’s stable smoking his afternoon pipe.
“What’s the trouble, sonny?” he asked. “Haste makes waste, you know.”
“Oh, Father, I’ve just thought. Do you believe Jim might have taken Lesley’s necklace?”
“Jim?” questioned his father in a puzzled way. “Oh, you mean Jim Crow? Why, I don’t know. What makes you think so?”
“It’s too bad!” cried Lesley, appearing at this moment; “Ronnie hasn’t a bit of reason to say Jim took it.”