as hens and geese and turkeys, and taking the eggs they
lay. Of course, it would not occur to a crow that he didn't have a
perfect right to take such food for himself and his young as he could
find in his day's hunting. Indeed, it is not unlikely that, if a crow
did any real thinking about the matter, he might decide that robins and
meadowlarks were his chickens anyway. So what the other birds would
better do about it is to hide their nests as well as ever they can, and
be quiet when they come and go.

That is the way Father and Mother Crow did, themselves, when they built
their home where the pine boughs hid it from climbers below and from
fliers above. And, though you might hardly believe it of a crow, they
were still as mice whenever they came near it, alighting first on trees
close by, and slipping up carefully between the branches, to be sure no
enemy was following their movements. Then they would greet their babies
with a comforting low "Caw," which seemed to mean, "Never fear, little
ones, we've brought you a very good treat." Yes, they were shy, those
old crows, when they were near their home, and very quiet they kept
their affairs until their young got into the habit of yelling, "Kah,
kah, kah," at the top of their voices whenever they were hungry, and of
mumbling loudly, "Gubble-gubble-gubble," whenever they were eating.

After that time comes, there is very little quiet within the home of a
crow; and all the world about may guess, without being a bit clever,
where the nest is. A good thing it is for the noisy youngsters that by
that time they are so large that it does not matter quite so much.

But it was before the "kah-and-gubble" habit had much more than begun
that Corbie was adopted; and the nestlings were really as still as could
be when the father of the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl climbed
way, way, way up that big tree and looked into the round little room up
there. There was no furniture--none at all. Just one bare nursery, in
which five babies were staying day and night. Yet it was a tidy room,
fresh and sweet enough for anybody to live in; for a crow, young or old,
is a clean sort of person.

The father of the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl looked over the
five homely, floundering little birds, and, choosing Corbie, put him
into his hat and climbed down with him. He was a nimble sort of father,
or he never could have done it, so tall a tree it was, with no branches
near the groun