Old Jim Crow,
You’re just a funny bird;
And that I know!”
“Well, maybe that is better,” agreed Ronald, “and I can dance it, any way.” And he began to whirl about the playroom, stamping out the measure with a will.
“Oh, hush, Ronnie!” cried Lesley; “you’ll tear the house down.... I wonder,” she added slowly, holding the crow to her cheek while he caressed her with his beak, “if Father will let us take old Jim if we go away.”
“Why, shan’t we take everything?” questioned Ronald, with wondering eyes. “Jenny Lind and Jim Crow and the goats and—no, not the rabbits, o’ course.”
“And—not Jenny Lind, nor the goats either,” said Lesley, shaking her head. “They belong to the Gov’ment, you know, like Father says the Light does.”
“And does Stumpy belong to the Gov’ment?” in awe-stricken tones.
“I don’t know,” answered Lesley, cautiously, “but I believe he must belong to us, so prob’ly we could take him.”
This question, not of the removal of Jim Crow and Stumpy, but of the entire family, had been one that had prevented Mr. and Mrs. McLean for some time from finding life dull or unexciting. The Lighthouse tender had come in since Stumpy’s illness began and had brought a letter from the “Gov’ment,” a big one with a big seal, to Malcolm McLean.