to a master. He
carried with him now, besides his blanket and his paddle, a generous
roll of birch bark, with which to illuminate the lumber shanty before
going in. It had occurred to him that possibly some lynx or wildcat
might have taken up its dwelling therein; and if so, he was no longer
in the mood to meet it at close quarters in the dark.

The Kings of the Intervale

Far out over the pale, smooth surface of the river a crow flew,
flapping heavily. From time to time he uttered an angry and frightened
squawk. Over, under, and all around him, now darting at his eyes, now
dropping upon him like a little, arrow-pointed thunderbolt, now
slapping a derisive wing across his formidable beak, flashed a small,
dark bird whose silvery white belly now and then caught the sun.

The crow's accustomed alert self-possession was quite shattered. He
had forgotten his own powers of attack. He seemed to fear for his
eyes,--and among all the wild kindred there is no fear more horrifying
than that. When he ducked, and swerved, and tried to dodge, he did it
awkwardly, as if his presence of mind was all gone.

His assailant, less than a third of his weight, was a king-bird, whose
nest, in the crotch of an elm on the intervale meadow, the crow had
been so ill-advised as to investigate. The crow was comparatively
inexperienced, or he would have known enough to keep away from the
nests of the king-birds. But there it was, in plain sight; and he
loved eggs or tender nestlings. Before he had had time to find out
which it was that the nest contained, both the parent birds had fallen
upon him with a swift ferocity which speedily took away his appetite
for food or fight. Their beaks were sturdy and burning sharp. Their
short, powerful wings gave them a flight so swift and darting that,
for all his superior strength, he felt himself at their mercy. His one
thought was to save his eyes and escape.

Both birds chased him till he was well out over the river. Then the
female returned to her nest, leaving her mate to complete the
intruder's chastisement. Had the crow been an old and cunning bird, he
would have sought the extreme heights of air, where the king-bird is
disinclined to follow; but lacking this crow-wisdom, he kept on at the
level of the tallest tree-tops, and was forced to take his punishment.
He was, in reality, more sore and terrified than actually injured.
That darting, threatening beak of his pursuer never actually struck