Barbara, who detested the venerable raven, a bird that gave himself the
airs of being one of the family of Old Studley, and stirred up more
mischief than a dozen human boys even.
"Why," grumbled on the old lady, "there's poor Sally Bent, the henwife,
she's driven distracted with Mike's thievish tricks. This week only he
stole seven eggs, three on 'em turkey's eggs no less. He set himself on
the watch, he did, and as soon as an egg was laid he nipped it up warm,
and away with it! If 'twasn't for master's anger I'd strangle that evil
bird, I should. Why, bless her! The little maid's asleep, she is!"
And Mrs. Barbara crept away to see after her other helpless charge, the
good old professor who lived so far back in the musty-fusty past that he
would never remember to feed his body, so busy was he in feasting his
mind on the dead languages.
Next morning the tearing winds had departed, the stately elms were
motionless at rest, and the sun beat down with a fierce radiance, upon
the red brick walls of Old Studley.
Jinty Ransom leaned out of her latticed window and smiled contentedly
back at the genial sun.
"Ah, thou maid, come down and count over the crocus flowers!" called up
Mrs. Barbara from the green lawn below. "I fear me that thief Mike has
nipped off the heads of a few dozens, out o' pure wicked mischief."
Presently Jinty was flashing like a sunbeam in and out of the old house.
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