“I wonder if crow knew there were patterns for embroidery in wall paper?”
“I wonder!”
And then Jimsi tore herself away from her friend and flung on her cloak and cap. The clock in the little lame girl’s room was just striking the hour of twelve—the hour when Cinderella had to give up her ball and run home at night, the hour when Jimsi had to give up her play and run home in the morning. She lifted her rubber in one hand and waved it before she put it on. “Cinderella’s slipper,” she smiled. “But it’s not made of glass and it isn’t going to fall off and be left for anybody to pick up!” Then she was gone.
CHAPTER VIII
The Scrapbooks Crow Told About
JIMSI had been so busy that morning that I do believe she had quite forgotten the all-important surprise that the good crow promised her in the afternoon. When she came home to Aunt Phoebe’s and put the round-robin letter under Aunt Phoebe’s luncheon plate, she thought of it. “I wonder what it can be,” she mused. “Oh, I do wonder.” Then she flew upstairs to wash the paint off her hands before the bell tinkled in the hall. She had just time to brush her hair and wash up. Then she heard Aunt Phoebe’s little maid going out to ring, ding-a-ling-a-ling!
Jimsi trotted softly downstairs and peeped into the dining-room. No! Aunt Phoebe had not found the crow letter yet! She was innocent about her plate—No! she didn’t know what was under it! Jimsi almost giggled, but she covered the giggle with her napkin and made it over into a cough.
“I’m afraid you’ve taken cold,” suggested Aunt Phoebe. “Have you had that cough long—I’m sure I should have noticed it”—