“Ask Methuselah,” he said.
The others turned, following his outstretched finger with their eyes. Out from under the shapeless form of a mowing machine walked Methuselah, his beady eyes glittering in the gloom, his head cocked on one side and his yellow beak closed over an object which at first glance looked like a piece of brown paper folded into a tiny parcel. In an instant Harry had swooped down upon the astounded bird and was dancing back with a small chamois bag in her hand.
“It’s the money!” she cried. The boys crowded around her while she untied the little pink string with trembling fingers and while Methuselah, quite forgotten, smoothed his feathers and scolded angrily. Out came the bills and coins and Dick’s check, all intact.
“Methuselah was the thief, I’ll bet a hat!” cried Chub.
“Sure,” agreed Dick. “But I don’t see how he ever got up on that rafter.”
“Oh, he climbs around everywhere when I let him out,” said Harry excitedly. “And he’s a terrible thief. Don’t you remember the time he stole the turnip seeds and ate them?”
“Well, I’m glad he didn’t eat this,” said Roy. “I wonder where he found it now.”
“Oh, he probably lugged it off somewhere and forgot all about it,” said Dick. “And just now when he went roaming around he came across it and—”
“And he knew we wanted it,” completed Harry, “and brought it to us! Isn’t he a darling?”
“Well, that’s all in the way you look at it,” Roy laughed. “Considering that he stole it in the first place—and tried to put the blame on me—!”