nd sometimes--oh, you
can think of a dozen tools that beak of Corbie's was like. He was as
well off as if he had a whole carpenter's chest with him all the time.
But mostly it served like a child's thumb and forefinger, to pick
berries, or to untie the bright hair-ribbons of the Blue-eyed Girl or
the shoe-laces of the Brown-eyed Boy. And once in a long, long while,
when some stupid child or Grown-Up, who did not know how to be civil to
a crow, used him roughly, his beak became a weapon with which to pinch
and to strike until his enemy was black and blue. For Corbie learned, as
every sturdy person must, in some way or other, how to protect himself
when there was need.

Yes, Corbie's beak was wonderful. Of course, lips are better on people
in many ways than beaks would be; but we cannot do one tenth so many
things with our mouths as Corbie could with his. To be sure, we do not
need to, for we have hands to help us out. If our arms had grown into
wings, though, as a bird's arms do, how should we ever get along in this
world?

[Illustration: _Corbie slipped off and amused himself._]

The weeks passed by. A happy time for Corbie, whether he played with the
children or slipped off and amused himself, as he had a way of doing now
and then, after he grew old enough to feel independent. The world for
him was full of adventure and joy. He never once asked, "What can I do
now to amuse me?" Never once. His brain was so active that he could
fill every place and every hour full to the brim of interest. He had a
merry way about him, and a gay chatter that seemed to mean, "Oh, life to
a crow is joy! JOY!" And because of all this, it was not only the
Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl who loved him. He won the hearts
of even the Grown-Ups, who had sometimes found it hard to be patient
with him during the first noisy days, when he tired them with his
frequent baby "kah-and-gubble," before he could feed himself.

But, however bold and dashing he was during the day, whatever the sunny
hours had held of mirth and dancing, whichever path he had trod or
flown, whomever he had chummed with--when it was the time of dusk,
little Corbie sought the one he loved best of all, the one who had been
most gentle with him, and snuggling close to the side of the Blue-eyed
Girl, tucked his head into her sleeve or under the hem of her skirt, and
crooned his sleepy song which seemed to mean:--

Oh! soft and warm the crow in the nest
Finds th