CHAPTER VIII
THE WHITE SLIPPER
It was not long after Ronald’s sleep-walking adventure when the faithful Stumpy was stricken with a sharp rheumatic attack that made it necessary for him to come up to the Lighthouse and be nursed by Mrs. McLean. On the whole he found his illness rather agreeable than otherwise, for Ronald and Lesley were his constant companions and the Lightkeeper laughingly said more than once that he didn’t know when he hired Stumpy whether he had engaged a nurse for his children, or an assistant for his own work.
When the old fellow was recovering and could limp about almost as well as usual, he rambled out one balmy day with his young friends and they all sat together on the rocks in the sun. Not a feather of breeze was blowing, a thing most remarkable and to be remembered, for King Æolus was supposed to have his cave in the immediate vicinity of the island and to let out from it all his romping, roaring winds every morning.
Jenny Lind, though not invited, had joined the party and was looking down upon them, benevolently, from a high rock; several sheep were scrambling about near by and a rabbit occasionally appeared, stood on his hind legs, sniffed the air, and disappeared again. Jim Crow was there, perched on the donkey’s back and croaking certain remarks in a low tone about this being a hard world, anyway, and it was a strange thing, so it was, that a poor crow couldn’t have a red ribbon around his neck, like Lesley. From time to time he eyed the steel chain that hung from Stumpy’s pocket with such a covetous air that its owner clapped his hand over it in pretended alarm and cried laughingly, “Oh, you Jim Crow! You young, handsome bird! You no want take chain from poor old man.”
“Jim-ery Crow-ery, never-y you-ery mind-ery!” cried Lesley, affectionately. “Bad-ery Stump-ery, tease-ery you-ery!”
“Oh-ery you-ery think-ery Jim-ery never-y bad-ery!” exclaimed Ronald.
“Oh, that secret language! When I learn?” sighed Stumpy. “I tell you many times you better learn Spanish.”
“Well, we’re willing,” answered Lesley, cheerfully. “We always were. Teach us some now. We know ‘Viva México!’ to begin with.”
“I think you not even know my name in Spanish,” said the old man, seriously. “My name Francisco Lopez, or Pancho Lopez, if you want use little name. In Mexico children like you call me Don Pancho.”
“Well, that’s all right,” said Ronald. “I’ll call you that, and now we know four words.”