“Well,” said the boy, a little daunted by his sister’s indignation, “I only thought.... You know yourself how much he likes shiny things, and Mother has caught him stealing in the kitchen.”
A burst of tears was Lesley’s answer and her father shook his head at Ronald, saying in a kind voice: “Don’t cry about it, daughter. I mind now that there was an old raven in Scotland stole my grandfather’s spectacles once, but maybe he wasn’t well brought up.... I tell you what, children,” bringing his hand down with a thump on his knee, “Jim Crow has got a ‘hidy-hole’ up there on the cornice of the house. I’ve often watched him go there. I’ll get the long ladder and see what he keeps in it.”
“Oh, let me, Daddy,” cried Ronald. “I’ll climb up the water-pipe.”
“You will not, then,” said his father, decidedly; “it’s bad for the pipe and bad for your clothes, and you’re too heedless and reckless altogether with your climbing.”
By this time Mrs. McLean had joined the group and heard the tale, and she now laid a restraining hand on the boy’s shoulder, while Lesley’s tears were dried in the excitement of the moment.
The long ladder was brought, laid against the house, Father climbed slowly up, reached the spot in the cornice where he had so often seen Jim Crow, and crying out, “Well, if this doesn’t beat the Dutch!” burst into a hearty fit of laughter.
“Oh, what, Father? Oh, what?” cried the children, dancing with impatience.
“Let them come up the ladder, Mother,” called Malcolm. “I’ll hold them and they can see for themselves.”
The children were up before you could say Jack Robinson, and, looking into a sheltered place on the cornice, just behind the water-pipe, beheld Jim Crow’s hidy-hole with an astonishment not to be described.
It was a veritable robbers’ cave, for it held a number of bright feathers, some tinfoil, a variety of beads and buttons, one of mother’s thimbles, several pieces of colored glass and china, and, and—yes, it really did hold Lesley’s necklace.