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Tale of Old Mr. Crow

<h5 id="id00250">MR. CROW'S PLAN</h5> Yes! Old Mr. Crow had made up his mind about something. After Jasper Jay and Frisky Squirrel and Fatty Coon had come and crouched under his umbrella, and Christopher Crane had perched himself on top of it, and Mr. Crow had fallen off the fence, the old gentleman decided that he would take no more chances. The next time it rained he knew exactly what he was going to do. He said nothing to anyone about his plan. It was a good one—Mr. Crow was sure of that. And he could hardly wait for the next shower, he was so eager to give his scheme a trial. He hoped that there would be a big storm—not merely a quick shower, which would be over before he had had time to enjoy it. At last the storm came. And for once Mr. Crow was not disappointed. It was the sort of storm that is worth waiting for. The wind had blown hard all day. And the sky had grown almost as black as night. And old Mr. Crow was watching in his house, with his umbrella grasped tight in his hands, waiting for the rain. When the rain began, it did not fall in a gentle patter. It came with a rush and a roar, driven in white sheets before a mighty wind. "This is great!" Mr. Crow cried aloud, as he stepped upon a limb outside his house and spread his umbrella. Now, this is what he had decided to do: He had determined that the very next time it rained he would take his umbrella and fly up into the sky, where he would not be annoyed by anybody coming along to share his shelter with him. For a moment Mr. Crow balanced himself on the limb. And the next moment, he had jumped. Afterward, he could never remember exactly how it all happened. Everything seemed like a bad dream to old Mr. Crow—such as he sometimes had after eating too heartily of corn. He felt himself swept up into the sky faster than he had flown for years. He was pitched and tossed about; and in no time at all he was drenched with water—for the cold rain pelted him as much as it pleased. He could only cling to the handle of his umbrella. And so he sailed away, swaying this way and that as the wind caught him, and always climbing higher and higher into the sky. He passed the top of Blue Mountain almost before he knew it. Looking down, he could see Mrs. Eagle on her nest; and she seemed to be in a flutter of excitement, too. She was frightened; and it was no wonder. For she thought the umbrella was a monstrous bird, coming to snatch her children away from her. In a few minutes more Mr. Crow had crossed another mountain. He was sailing away from home like a kite that has broken its string. And he was rising so high in the air that he was beginning to grow uneasy. He began to wonder what he had better do. Of course, there was one thing he didn't have to worry about—and that was falling. But he did want to go home. You might suppose that he would have done that long before. But the trouble was, he didn't want to lose his umbrella. He thought a great deal of it; and he didn't know where he could get another. (You must not forget that it was the only umbrella in Pleasant Valley.) Old Mr. Crow had a hard time deciding just what to do. First, he thought he would let go of the umbrella. Then he thought he wouldn't. Next, he thought he would. And after that he thought he wouldn't, again. Perhaps he would still be changing his mind like that if something hadn't happened. Anyhow, all at once the umbrella turned inside out. And Mr. Crow began to fall. But he didn't fall far. For as soon as he realized what was going on he let go of his umbrella-handle, spread his wings, and soared down to the ground. He made no attempt to find his way home until the next day, but spent the night in an evergreen grove. And he didn't feel as badly about losing his umbrella as you would have thought, for he said that ever since he had owned it he had caught a wetting when it rained. And since that was the case, he was better off without an umbrella, anyhow. <h2 id="id00267" style="margin-top: 4em">XII</h2> <h5 id="id00268">A RACE WITH THE TRAIN</h5> Old Mr. Crow was fond of gay clothes. Perhaps it was because he was so black that he always chose bright colors. Anyhow, so long as he could wear a bright red coat and a yellow necktie—or a bright red necktie and a yellow coat—he was generally quite happy. All his neighbors knew who he was as far as they could see him. No matter if they caught only a flash of yellow or of red, they were pretty safe in saying, "There goes old Mr. Crow!" Well, it happened that during the summers that he spent in Pleasant Valley Mr. Crow sometimes went on excursions. "It's so dull here!" he would often say. "I like to see things happen, once in a while." And that was the reason why he was often to be seen flying far down to the other end of the valley, over the village. There were many interesting sights there. What Mr. Crow liked most of all was to watch the trains puffing along the railroad, which ran close to the river in that part of Pleasant Valley. Sometimes he flew directly over the trains and raced with them. He often claimed that they were always trying to beat him. "But they can't do it," he boasted. At last there came a day when something happened that made Mr. Crow feel prouder than ever. He had gone down to the village, wearing his bright red coat. And a little way beyond the furthest house he perched in a tree by the side of the railroad and waited for the train to pass. He had heard it snorting at the station and he knew it was about to start. Pretty soon the train came thundering up the track. And as soon as it reached him Mr. Crow started to race with it. He had no trouble in beating it, as he always did. And then he did something he had never done before. As soon as he had passed the engine he swooped down and flew right across the track in front of it. All at once the train set up a terrible noise. It seemed to Mr. Crow that it ground its teeth. And it came to a sudden stop, hissing as if it were very angry. Old Mr. Crow was the least bit startled. He alighted in the top of a tall elm. And while he watched, two men jumped down from the engine and walked along the track for a while. Then they crawled back into the engine; and the train went slowly on again. "That's queer!" said Mr. Crow to himself. "I never saw that happen before. It looks to me as if the train was pretty angry because I beat it. And if that's the case, I'm coming back here to-morrow at the same hour and race the train again." You can see just from that that Mr. Crow was something of a tease. All his life he had teased his neighbors. And now he felt more important than ever, because he thought he had found a way to tease a railroad train. <h2 id="id00282" style="margin-top: 4em">XIII</h2> <h5 id="id00283">THE GAME OF CHECKERS</h5> Mr. Crow told all his neighbors that he had made the train angry with him. And he invited everyone to come down to the village with him the following day, to enjoy the sport. "I'm going to race the train again," Mr. Crow explained. "And I shall fly right in front of it, too—just as I did to-day. You'll see what a fuss it will make. And if you don't say it's a good joke, I'll never wear a checkered red coat again." The next day Jasper Jay invited Mr. Crow to take part in a game of checkers. Whenever anybody in the neighborhood wanted to play checkers, he had to ask Mr. Crow, on account of having to use his checkered red coat for the board. Mr. Crow accepted the invitation. "But I shall have to stop at exactly sixteen minutes past two," he said. "The train starts from the village at half past two sharp; and I don't want to be late." "Very well!" Jasper Jay agreed. "I shall want to stop then myself, because I'm coming along with you to see the fun." They had played twenty-seven games of checkers. And they were in the midst of the twenty-eighth when Mr. Crow suddenly cocked his eye at the sun. "Goodness!" he exclaimed, springing up quickly. "It's fifteen and a half minutes after two; and I shall have to be starting for the village." He reached for his checkered red coat, which was spread upon the ground between them. "Wait a moment!" Jasper Jay cried. "I'd suggest your leaving your coat right where it is. Then we can come back to our game after we've had our fun with the train. I'm going to win the game, so it's hardly fair not to finish it." Now, Mr. Crow had not liked the idea of leaving his handsome red coat upon the ground. But he never could bear the thought of being beaten. And Jasper Jay's remark made him feel quite peevish. "I fully expect to win this game myself," the old gentleman said somewhat stiffly. "So I'll leave my coat here as you suggest. But I shall have to go this instant, for I must stop at my house and get my yellow coat. Of course I can't go down to the village in my shirtsleeves." He hurried away then, with Jasper Jay close behind him. And as soon as Mr. Crow had put on his bright yellow coat the two checker-players started for the village. When Jasper and Mr. Crow reached the tree where the old gentleman had waited for the train the day before, they found as many as a dozen of their neighbors already there. Even as Mr. Crow dropped down upon a limb, he could hear the train coming up the track. Mr. Crow's friends in the tree chose the best seats they could find, in order to get a good view of the race. And at the foot of the tree Jimmy Rabbit stood on tiptoe. He had often wished he could climb a tree—but never so much as then. <h2 id="id00298" style="margin-top: 4em">XIV</h2> <h5 id="id00299">THE LUCKY LAUGH</h5> As the train drew nearer to the tree where Mr. Crow and his friends were waiting, it gave a loud shriek. "You hear that?" said Mr. Crow. "It's still angry." And he shouted an impudent caw-caw in reply. In a moment more the race began. Mr. Crow had no trouble in beating the train, just as he always had. And when he had passed it he dropped quickly and swerved across the track ahead of it. To his great surprise the train never faltered. It kept straight on, going faster and faster. And the first thing Mr. Crow knew, the last car had whipped around a curve and passed out of sight. Poor Mr. Crow felt very downcast. He would have liked to hurry home at once, because he hated to face his friends. But he knew they would follow him if he flew away. So he went back to meet them, wearing a bold smile. "Did you see what happened?" he inquired. "The train was afraid to stop!" Everybody laughed when Mr. Crow said that. People knew him too well to be deceived by him. "I suppose your yellow coat frightened it," Jasper Jay jeered. "It's too bad you didn't wear your checkered red one." At that remark Jimmy Rabbit pricked up his long ears. "Did you wear your red coat yesterday?" he asked Mr. Crow. "Yes!" Mr. Crow replied gruffly. He did not like being questioned by a mere youngster like Jimmy Rabbit. "And you say the train stopped when you flew in front of it yesterday?" Mr. Crow grunted. But Jimmy Rabbit knew that he meant "Yes!" "That's it!" Jimmy Rabbit cried. And he jumped up and down in his excitement. "That's what?" asked Mr. Crow in a sulky tone. "I'll tell you!" said Jimmy. "Yesterday the train stopped because it saw your red coat. That's the way to stop a train. You wave a red flag or a red lantern at a train and it will always stop. But I've noticed that a train pays no attention to any other color. Now, you could wave something green, or yellow, or blue in front of a train; and no matter how hard you waved, it would go right on as if it never saw you at all." "Maybe you know," Mr. Crow snapped. "And maybe you don't. I said the train was afraid to stop. And I still think so." Jimmy Rabbit winked at the crowd in the tree. "I must hop along now," he told them. "I'm glad I came to see the race, for it has been even more fun than I expected." Then Jasper Jay gave Mr. Crow a great start. "It's too bad—" he said—"it's too bad you can't wear your red coat any more, Mr. Crow." "How's that?" asked Mr. Crow quickly. "You promised that if we didn't say it was a good joke you'd never wear a checkered red coat again." Now, Mr. Crow had forgotten all about that remark. And for a moment he looked worried. Then he turned cheerful all at once. "Look here!" he cried. "When I came back to this tree you all laughed, didn't you?" Everybody admitted that. "Then there must have been a good joke somewhere," Mr. Crow said. "And I shall wear my red coat as often as I please." No one really cared, anyhow, whether he did or whether he didn't. But Mr. Crow was angry with Jasper Jay. And he refused to finish the game of checkers with him. <h2 id="id00328" style="margin-top: 4em">XV</h2> <h5 id="id00329">MR. CROW'S NEW COAT</h5> When Mr. Crow decided, one fall, that he would stay in Pleasant Valley during the winter, instead of going South, he remembered at once that he would need a thick overcoat. That was when he went to Mr. Frog's tailor's shop, for Mr. Frog, you know, was a tailor. "I want you to make me a warm overcoat." Mr. Crow told him. "Can you do it?" "Certainly!" said Mr. Frog. "You've come to the right place. Everybody says that I'm the best tailor in Pleasant Valley." And that was quite true—because he was the only one. "What'll you have—stripes, checks, or spots?" Mr. Frog asked briskly. "What do you suggest?" Mr. Crow replied. He had not thought much about his new coat—except that he wanted it to be warm. "Spots, by all means!" said Mr. Frog. "I always wear 'em myself. They're the best, to my mind. For if you happen to get a spot on your coat, what's one spot more?" "That's a good idea," Mr. Crow said. "And how much will you ask to make me a spotted coat?" "I charge by the spot," said Mr. Frog. "The more spots, the more the coat will cost. So I'd advise you to take a coat with large spots, because there'll be fewer of 'em and the price will be less." "That's a good idea, too," said old Mr. Crow. "You may make my coat of this!" He pointed to a piece of blue cloth with yellow spots about the size of a dollar and a quarter. "Good!" said Mr. Frog. Then he measured Mr. Crow. And then he measured the cloth. And then he scratched some figures on a flat stone. "There'll be thirteen spots on your coat and that'll make just thirteen that you'll owe me." "Thirteen what?" asked Mr. Crow. "Ah! That's the question!" said Mr. Frog, mysteriously. "I'll tell you when your coat's finished. And you can pay me then. It's what is known as 'spot cash,'" he added. "Very well!" Mr. Crow answered. "And I'll come back—" "To-morrow!" said the tailor. When to-morrow came, Mr. Crow flew over to the pond where Mr. Frog had his tailor's shop. And that spry gentleman slipped Mr. Crow's new coat upon him. While Mr. Crow stood stiffly in the middle of the floor Mr. Frog pulled the coat here and patted it there. He backed away and looked at it, with his head on one side; and then he stood on his head and looked at it, with his legs dangling in the air. "It's a perfect fit," he assured Mr. Crow, finally. And then he caught up a needle and thread and busied himself behind Mr. Crow's back for a long time. "What are you doing?" Mr. Crow inquired at last. "I'm getting tired of standing still." "Just fixing it!" answered Mr. Frog. "It'll be finished in a minute." And it was. He stuck his needle into Mr. Crow, to let him know it was done. Mr. Crow jumped half way across the room. "Why did you do that?" he asked hotly. "I wanted to break my thread," Mr. Frog explained pleasantly. "It's the quickest way of breaking a thread that I know of." "You look out, or I'll break something else for you," Mr. Crow squawked, for he was thoroughly enraged. "And now," he added, "I'll pay you what I owe before leaving. I owe thirteen of something." Then Mr. Frog surprised him. "I've decided not to take any pay," he announced. "I hear that thirteen is an unlucky number." "Is that so?" Mr. Frog exclaimed. "Perhaps it is. If you had stuck your needle into me thirteen times it certainly would have been unlucky for you." On the whole Mr. Crow was well pleased with his bargain. He was glad that he had asked Mr. Frog to make a coat for him. Indeed, if only the tailor had not stabbed him with his needle, he would have returned to the shop at once and ordered Mr. Frog to make him a pair of trousers—with thirteen spots on them. <h2 id="id00356" style="margin-top: 4em">XVI</h2> <h5 id="id00357">A TIGHT FIT</h5> Now, a certain thing happened that made Mr. Crow change his mind about staying North for the winter. It had something to do with nuts, and Frisky Squirrel, and Sandy Chipmunk. But that is another story; and you may already have heard it. Anyhow, Mr. Crow suddenly decided that he would have to fly southward, after all. He was disappointed, because he didn't like the thought of having to make so long a journey. Moreover, he had his new blue coat with the yellow spots, which Mr. Frog had made for him. It was a handsome coat. And everybody said it was very becoming to Mr. Crow. But he knew it was altogether too warm to wear to his home in the South where the weather was sure to be mild. "I'll have to leave my new coat behind," he said to himself in a sad voice. "It's almost too heavy to wear even here, though it is fall. I hate to do it; but I'd better take it off and hide it somewhere. There might be some cold days next spring when I'd be glad of a thick, warm coat." So the old gentleman started to unbutton his new coat, which he had worn all day, ever since Mr. Frog had slipped it on him early in the morning. Anyone might think that it would have been an easy matter to unbutton the coat, for Mr. Frog had sewed a double row of big brown buttons down the front of it. But for some time Mr. Crow fumbled with one of them in vain. "Ha!" he exclaimed at last. "This is stupid of me! I'm trying to unbutton the wrong row of buttons." Then he fumbled with one of the buttons of the other row. But strange to say, he was no more successful than before. He struggled with all the buttons in that row (there were five of them). And then he tried the other five, one after another. Mr. Crow couldn't understand it. He wanted more than ever to take the coat off, because his efforts to unbutton it had made him quite warm. "I shall have get somebody to help me," he said at last. "It may be that my eyesight is failing—though I haven't noticed before that there was anything the matter with it…. There's my cousin, Jasper Jay! I'll ask him to unbutton my coat." And he called to Jasper, who had just alighted on a stump not far away. To Mr. Crow's dismay, his cousin refused to assist him. "I know you too well," said Jasper Jay. "You want to play some trick on me. If the buttons were on the back of your coat I might help you. But they're right in front of you; and they're so big that a blind person couldn't help finding them, even on the darkest night…. No! You can't fool me this time!" "Very well!" Mr. Crow croaked. "If you won't help me, there are plenty of other people who'll be glad to." And he flew away in something very like a temper. To Mr. Crow's surprise he couldn't find anyone that would unbutton his new coat for him; like Jasper Jay, everybody was afraid that Mr. Crow meant to play a trick on him. Mr. Crow was beginning to be frightened. He had called on all his friends in Pleasant Valley except one. And if that one should refuse, Mr. Crow didn't know what he could do. He had liked his spotted coat. But now he began to hate it. And he wanted to slip out of it and never see it again. So Mr. Crow hurried over to the swamp where Fatty Coon lived. <h2 id="id00371" style="margin-top: 4em">XVII</h2> <h5 id="id00372">THE STRANGE BUTTONS</h5> To Mr. Crow's delight, it did not occur to Fatty Coon that Mr. Crow might be playing a trick on him. You see, as was usually the case, Fatty was hungry. And he had no thought for anything except food. When Mr. Crow explained what a fix he was in, and asked Fatty to unbutton his coat for him, Fatty stepped up to him at once. But he didn't try to unbutton the coat. He sniffed at the buttons, while his face wore a puzzled look. And then he began to smile. "I'll tell you what I'll do!" Fatty said. "If you'll give me these buttons, I'll take them off for you. And then, of course, you'll have no more trouble with your coat. You can throw it off any time you please." "Good!" Mr. Crow exclaimed. "The buttons shall be yours. I don't want them, for I shall never wear this coat again." So Fatty Coon set to work to take off the buttons. He removed them in a very odd way, too. Instead of tearing them off he began eating them! "Goodness!" Mr. Crow cried. "Aren't you afraid you'll be ill?" But Fatty Coon never answered. He kept on nibbling the buttons and crunching them in his mouth. And he never stopped until he had swallowed the very last one. Then he smacked his lips (for he knew no better). "Those were the finest gingersnaps I ever tasted," he remarked. "It's a pity there weren't a baker's dozen of them, instead of only ten." Old Mr. Crow nearly fell over, he was so surprised. He had never dreamed that those big brown buttons, which Mr. Frog had sewed upon his coat, were nothing but gingersnaps. "If I'd known that I would have eaten them myself!" he exclaimed. "But I don't care. Now that I can get out of this heavy coat, I'm satisfied." But to Mr. Crow's dismay, the coat clung round him as tightly as ever. He couldn't throw it open at all. And he turned the least bit pale. "This is strange!" he murmured. "What can be the matter, I wonder!" Fatty Coon looked at the coat again. And then he laughed. "The trouble—" he said—"the trouble is, there are no buttonholes! Your coat doesn't open in front. And it doesn't open anywhere else, either. It's sewed on you, Mr. Crow." Poor Mr. Crow began to feel faint. He leaned against a tree and did not speak for some time. But he was thinking deeply. And all at once he understood what had happened. "It's all the fault of that silly tailor, Mr. Frog!" he groaned. "He made me stand still a long time. And that was when he sewed my coat up the back…. What can I do?" he asked helplessly. "If I were you I'd go straight to Mr. Frog's shop and make him take the stitches out," Fatty Coon said. "And if he has any more of those gingersnaps, I wish you'd let me know." <h2 id="id00391" style="margin-top: 4em">XVIII</h2> <h5 id="id00392">AN UNLUCKY NUMBER</h5> As soon as old Mr. Crow pushed open the door of Mr. Frog's tailor's shop, Mr. Frog jumped up quickly. He had been sitting cross-legged upon a table, sewing. And when he leaped off the table he sprang so high that his head struck the ceiling. "What's that noise?" Mr. Crow asked him nervously, when Mr. Frog had landed upon his feet. "It sounded like thunder; but there's not a cloud in the sky." "It was my head," Mr. Frog explained. "It hit the ceiling, you know." "Oh!" said Mr. Crow. "It made a very hollow sound. But I am not surprised. I have already learned that your head is quite empty." "It's certainly not solid," Mr. Frog agreed pleasantly. No matter what happened, he never lost his temper. But Mr. Crow was different. He was angry. "You've got me into a pretty fix!" said he. "And now you must get me out of it." "I suppose you want more buttons," Mr. Prog observed. "I noticed as you came in that you had lost every one." "No!" Mr. Crow told him. "What I want is to get out of this coat. I've decided to spend the winter in the South, after all. And here you've been and gone and sewed the coat on me, and left me no way at all to slip out of it." "I beg your pardon," the tailor replied politely. "Pardon me—but I think you are mistaken. I left four openings through which anyone could crawl out." Old Mr. Crow looked puzzled. "I should like to know where they are," he said. "The neck, the skirts, and the two sleeves!" Mr. Frog told him. At that Mr. Crow looked at him severely. "How could you expect me to slip through any of those places?" he asked. "Why—" said the tailor—"I thought it would be easy for you. I've always heard you were a very slippery customer." When he said that, Mr. Crow made some queer noises in his throat, much as if he were choking. "Are you ill?" the tailor cried. "Just a frog in my throat!" Mr. Crow answered. As he said that. Mr. Frog leaped toward the door. He was a jumpy sort of person. When anything startled him you could never tell in what direction he might spring. And he was now about to rush out of his shop when Mr. Crow caught him and dragged him back. "You can't go," he shouted, "until you've taken the stitches out of the back of my coat." "Oh, certainly!" Mr. Frog quavered. And he set to work at once to open the back seam of Mr. Crow's coat. He was a spry worker—was Mr. Frog. In less time than it takes to tell it he had ripped the back of the coat from collar to hem. And old Mr. Crow was no less spry in pulling the coat off and flinging it into a corner. "There!" Mr. Crow cried. "There's your coat with the thirteen spots on it! I certainly don't want it, for it has caused me no end of trouble." Then he turned and hurried out of the shop, without stopping even to thank Mr. Frog for what he had done. Before Mr. Crow was out of hearing, the tailor thrust his head through the doorway and called to the departing Mr. Crow. "I told you—" said Mr. Frog—"I told you thirteen was an unlucky number." <h2 id="id00420" style="margin-top: 4em">XIX</h2> <h5 id="id00421">THE SHOE-STORE</h5> "Dear me!" old Mr. Crow exclaimed one day. "I see I shall have to get some new shoes. I've had these only about ten years and they're worn through already. The trouble is, I don't know where to buy any more." He was talking to his cousin, Jasper Jay. "I can tell you," said Jasper. "That Rabbit boy—the one they call Jimmy—has a shoe-store. You know he's always trying something new. He has had a barber's shop; and he's been a tooth-puller. And now he has opened a shoe-store over in the meadow." "I'm glad to know it," Mr. Crow replied, "though I must say I wish it was somebody else. There's something about that Rabbit boy that I don't like. Maybe it's the way he wags his ears and wriggles his nose. And he's always jumping." "He's a bright young fellow," said Jasper Jay. Old Mr. Crow coughed. "A little too bright, sometimes," he ventured. "But he'll have to be a good deal brighter to play any of his tricks on me." "You think you're enough for him?" Jasper inquired. "Think?" cried Mr. Crow. "I know I am. And though I hate to get any shoes in his shop, I'm afraid I shall have to just this once." Later that day Mr. Crow went to the shoe-shop in the meadow. And Jimmy Rabbit was delighted to see him. "Come right in!" he invited Mr. Crow. "I see you need some new shoes. And you've made no mistake in coming here for them." "I hope not," Mr. Crow responded gruffly. He went inside the store and sat down. And Jimmy Rabbit knelt before him and measured one of his feet. Now, Mr. Crow had enormous feet. Big feet had always run—or walked—in his family. And though he couldn't any more help the size of his feet than the size of his bill, old Mr. Crow was very touchy in respect to them. He grew angry at once. "What do you mean by measuring my feet?" he croaked. "I didn't come here to be insulted, you know." Jimmy Rabbit looked up at him mildly. "I just wanted to find out how small your feet are," he explained politely enough. "Sometimes people come here with feet so small that I can't fit them. And when I looked at yours I was afraid that might be the case." "Oh!" said Mr. Crow. The answer pleased him. "Show me the best pair of shoes you have," he ordered. So Jimmy Rabbit began to search his shelves. To tell the truth, he was puzzled. He had no shoes big enough for Mr. Crow. But he did not dare tell the old gentleman that, because he knew Mr. Crow would be very angry. At last Jimmy Rabbit found the biggest shoes in the place. And he showed them to Mr. Crow, who seemed much pleased. "I'll try them on," Mr. Crow said. Jimmy Rabbit held out the shoes, hoping that Mr. Crow would take them. But Mr. Crow had no such notion in his head. "I mean, you may try them on me" he added. "You didn't say that," Jimmy Rabbit reminded him. "No further remarks are necessary," Mr. Crow screamed in a shrill voice. And at that Jimmy Rabbit knelt before him once more and began to crowd one of Mr. Crow's feet into one of the shoes. Jimmy struggled for a long time without saying a word. But Mr. Crow said several words under his breath, for Jimmy was hurting him dreadfully. There were two reasons for that. In the first place, the shoe was much too small for Mr. Crow. And in the second, Jimmy Rabbit was putting the left shoe on Mr. Crow's right foot. But neither of them knew that second reason. <h2 id="id00449" style="margin-top: 4em">XX</h2> <h5 id="id00450">OLD SHOES FOR NEW</h5> Old Mr. Crow was too proud to admit that the shoe Jimmy Rabbit was pulling upon his right foot was too small for him. But he would have objected, to be sure, had he known that it was the left shoe. He would have objected likewise when Jimmy crammed his left foot into the right shoe a few minutes later. But Mr. Crow only knew that his feet already ached. "Now just stand on them!" Jimmy Rabbit said at last. And Mr. Crow stood up. "Now walk a bit," the shoe merchant continued. But Mr. Crow could not walk. He hobbled a short distance. And then he sank down with a groan. "They don't hurt you, do they?" Jimmy Rabbit asked him. And Mr. Crow shook his head. He thought he could do that truthfully. What he felt was far worse than a mere hurt. It was torture—that was certainly what it was. Of course Jimmy Rabbit knew what the trouble was—or part of it, at least. He knew that Mr. Crow's toes were doubled up inside the shoes. And it was on the tip of his tongue to suggest to Mr. Crow that he have his toes cut off. But a better way soon occurred to Jimmy Rabbit. "I know you'll find these shoes very comfortable—after they're finished," he told Mr. Crow. "Finished!" Mr. Crow exclaimed. "Do you mean to say they're only partly made?" "There's just one more thing to do to them," Jimmy Rabbit explained. "The holes haven't been cut in them yet." "Holes!" said Mr. Crow. "What holes?" "Why, the holes for your toes, of course!" Jimmy Rabbit answered. "Maybe you didn't know that shoes are to be worn like that this summer. It makes them much cooler in hot weather." Well, Mr. Crow liked the idea. He said so, too. He certainly couldn't wear the shoes as they were. And if everybody else was going to wear shoes with toe-holes, he didn't want to be behind the times. But he hadn't seen anybody with shoes made after that fashion. And he told Jimmy Rabbit as much. "Ah!" said Jimmy Rabbit. "Quite true! You'll be the first in Pleasant Valley, Mr. Crow. You'll set the fashion, instead of following it. Better be first than last, you know!" Old Mr. Crow agreed to that. So he let Jimmy Rabbit cut as many holes in the shoes as he had toes—that made four holes in each shoe. And then Mr. Crow thrust his toes through the holes. To his great delight he could walk with ease and comfort. And he was about to leave the store when Jimmy Rabbit stopped him. "Haven't you forgotten something?" he asked. "I don't think so," Mr. Crow replied. "Yes, you have!" Jimmy Rabbit insisted. "You've forgotten your bill!" Mr. Crow looked at him in amazement. And then he felt of his face. "None of your tricks, young man!" he cried. "My bill is right where it belongs. How could I forget it, I should like to know?" "You don't understand," said Jimmy Rabbit. "What I mean is this: You haven't paid me for the shoes." "Oh!" said Mr. Crow. And he looked away quickly. "Well, you may keep my old shoes. I'm sure that's a fair exchange." And he pretended to be surprised when Jimmy Rabbit did not agree with him. "Your old shoes are full of holes," Jimmy objected. "I don't want them." And there Mr. Crow had him. "These shoes I have on are full of holes, too," he declared. "And if one hole isn't just as good as another, then I may as well go back to school again." And with that he stalked angrily away. As it happened, old Mr. Crow had never been to school in his life. But he thought the remark sounded well. And it seemed to keep Jimmy Rabbit quiet. He couldn't think of a thing to say until long after Mr. Crow had gone. And then it was too late. <h2 id="id00481" style="margin-top: 4em">XXI</h2> <h5 id="id00482">THE CROW CAUCUS</h5> "Where are all those crows going?" Johnnie Green asked his father one evening. He pointed to a long line of big black birds that straggled across the sky. They came from across the valley. And they were travelling fast toward the pine woods near the foot of Blue Mountain. "They seem to be in a hurry," said Johnnie Green. His father took one look at the procession and laughed. "They're going to a crow caucus, I guess," he answered. And then Johnnie wanted to know what a caucus was. He asked so many other questions, too, that Farmer Green didn't succeed in answering them all until they had almost finished their supper. Now, it was the custom of old Mr. Crow and many of his dusky friends to gather at sunset in the pine woods and hold a meeting. That was what Farmer Green meant when he said they were going to a caucus. And if he could have been there himself he would have been astonished at the things he would have heard. But for some reason he was never invited to attend one of those twilight meetings. Perhaps it was because disagreeable remarks were sometimes made about Farmer Green! On that evening when Johnnie noticed the flight of Mr. Crow's cronies toward the woods something happened at the meeting that displeased that old gentleman. Being the biggest—as well as the oldest—crow in the neighborhood, for years past he had called every such meeting to order. And he had always done most of the talking, too. But old Mr. Crow was late that night. When he reached the pine woods he found that a stranger had taken his accustomed seat in a great tree and was already addressing the gathering in a loud and commanding voice. And nobody paid any attention to old Mr. Crow. Nobody made room for him. He had to take a back seat on a limb that was crowded with boisterous young fellows, who kept pushing and poking one another. It was most annoying. "Who's that person that's so fond of hearing himself talk?" Mr. Crow asked someone in the next tree. He spoke in such a loud voice that everybody could hear him. And the stranger cried out sharply: "Silence!" Thereupon everyone looked around at Mr. Crow and frowned. He felt both angry and uncomfortable. And for a little while he sat as still as he could and listened to the stranger's remarks. Now, the newcomer was talking about the hard times. He said that there weren't as many grasshoppers as usual that year, and that Farmer Green had put tar on his corn before he planted it and that the rats had stolen most of his young chickens (of course that left very few for them), and that the wild berry crop was poor. Everybody agreed with the stranger. And everybody nodded his head, as if to say, "That's quite true!"—at least, everybody but Mr. Crow. He was determined that he would not agree with anything the stranger said. And so he shouted, "Nonsense!" at the top of his lungs. A murmur ran through the meeting. And there were cries of "Put him out!" "That's what I say, too!" Mr. Crow bellowed. And then he could hardly believe his ears when someone near him said, "They mean you!" <h2 id="id00501" style="margin-top: 4em">XXII</h2> <h5 id="id00502">THE TEST</h5> Well, it was no wonder that Mr. Crow was surprised when he found that some people wanted to put him out of the meeting just because he had said one word. Had he not always talked more than anybody else at those sunset meetings in the pine woods? Luckily, no one made a move to oust him. And he managed to keep silent for a little while. But he was so angry that he did not hear what the stranger was saying. At last, however, Mr. Crow began to pay attention again. "Do you want to know why times are hard and food is scarce in this neighborhood?" the impudent fellow asked. Everybody except old Mr. Crow answered, "Yes!" And after the echo had died away the stranger continued: "It's because you need a new leader," he declared. "I understand that a person called 'Old Mr. Crow' has been your leader for a good many years. And my advice to you, friends, is this: Get rid of him!" A good deal of applause greeted his words. But some of the older and wiser of his listeners shook their heads. "Who is there that could take Mr. Crow's place?" a voice called. At that question the stranger coughed slightly and said: "Of course, I wouldn't suggest any one specially, being a newcomer here myself. And if the position were offered to me, I don't know that I could accept it, though I have had so much experience." The young fellows on the limb with Mr. Crow at once set up a great cawing. "We want you!" they chanted. Old Mr. Crow might have been a scarecrow, for all the attention they paid to him. And he did not dare open his mouth. Many others took up the cry. And a great hub-bub arose—a beating of wings, and flying up and down, and jostling. Some of the younger ones squawked like chickens; others pretended to cry like children. But most of the company cawed in their loudest tones, until the whole valley rang with the uproar. Then one of old Mr. Crow's best friends spoke up and said: "It's plain that a good many people want you for a leader, stranger." "Then I'd be very happy to act as such," the bold fellow replied. "And I'll begin at once." But the elderly person who had just spoken said that there was no hurry and that the stranger ought first to be put to a test. "We want to make sure that you're a good leader," he explained. "And I would suggest that you go to see Farmer Green to-morrow, tell him that we object to his putting tar on his corn, and ask him not to do it again next spring." The stranger looked somewhat uneasy, as he listened. But after he had pondered for a few moments he said briskly: "I'll do that! I'll go to Farmer Green to-morrow (he won't be busy, for to-morrow's Sunday), and I'll make him agree to what you want." "We'll meet again on Monday, at sunset," Mr. Crow's friend announced. And then the meeting broke up in the wildest disorder. As for old Mr. Crow, he crept away without speaking to anyone. And always, before, he had made more noise than any ten of the others. <h2 id="id00524" style="margin-top: 4em">XXIII</h2> <h5 id="id00525">THE WHITE FLAG</h5> Unhappy Mr. Crow could scarcely eat a mouthful of food after that meeting on Saturday night, when he found the stranger talking to the gathering. He was worried, because he knew that if the stranger succeeded in getting Farmer Green to promise that he would not put tar on his corn the following spring, everybody would choose the newcomer to be the leader of all the crows in Pleasant Valley. And that was an honor that old Mr. Crow had had for years. For two whole days he sulked at home. He wouldn't even go to his door when anybody knocked. But on Monday evening Mr. Crow was the first to reach the meeting-place in the pine woods, long before sunset. He sat himself down in the leader's seat. And there he intended to stay as long as he could. At last his neighbors came straggling to the woods. And when the stranger arrived he seemed annoyed because he could not have Mr. Crow's seat. And he said in an undertone to Mr. Crow: "I advise you to go home." The old gentleman glared at him. And he answered in a loud voice: "I advise you to go home yourself—if you have a home to go to!" Now, some people thought that Mr. Crow's answer was a good one. So they laughed. And that made the stranger feel quite uncomfortable. But there were others who spoke up and said that Mr. Crow's remark was very unkind. They knew that the stranger had a beautiful home, further north, because he had told them all about it. And that made him feel better once more. Then old Mr. Crow called the meeting to order. And immediately the stranger announced in a loud voice: "I saw Farmer Green and he has surrendered!" Then there was even more noise than is usual at a crow caucus. It was a long time before old Mr. Crow could quiet the meeting. But he succeeded at last. And when it was still he said to the stranger: "How do you know Farmer Green has surrendered?" It was so quiet that you could have heard a pine-needle fall, for everyone was straining his ears to hear. "Farmer Green hung out the white flag to-day!" the stranger told them. Well, then there was another outburst. Of course, everybody knew that the white flag was the sign of surrender. And it was some time before old Mr. Crow could restore order. "I doubt it!" he cried, to everyone's astonishment. "It's true!" a voice shouted. "I know, for I saw—caw—caw! There was not only one white flag; there were dozens of them!" And then Mr. Crow surprised them by laughing loudly. He stopped at last and wiped his eyes—for he had actually wept, both with joy and amusement. "What day is this?" he inquired. And a hundred voices answered: "Monday!" "Right!" said Mr. Crow. "And Monday is washday at the farmhouse. Those white flags at Farmer Green's—they were the family wash, hung out on the line to dry!" Then all Mr. Crow's neighbors crowded around him and told him that they wanted him for their leader—and that they always had. They said that they knew all the time that the stranger was a fraud. "Where is he?" someone inquired. "Let's fix him!" But when they turned to look for the stranger they couldn't find him anywhere. He had vanished. Though Mr. Crow and his friends searched far and wide for the bold, bad fellow, their efforts were all in vain. During the bustle that had followed Mr. Crow's short speech the newcomer had quietly made his escape. And no doubt it was just as well for him that he left the meeting when he did. Some said he had hurried off towards the north; while others claimed that he had gone in a southerly direction. And though they have kept an eye out for him ever since, they have not found—or "fixed him"—yet. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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