t there was
nobody about. And, luckily, Mr. Crow found enough corn scattered near the
door of the corn-crib to furnish him with a good dinner.

The next morning, as soon as it began to grow light (for Mr. Crow was an
early riser), he felt in his left-hand pocket once more. And he pulled
out an elderberry.

"That won't do!" he said. "It's too early in the season for
elderberries." But he ate the sample--though he found it rather dry,
for it was a last year's berry. And then he fished a bird's egg out
of the same pocket. "My favorite breakfast!" he remarked. He ate the
egg. And at once he started out to hunt for more. Some people say that
he robbed the nests of several small birds before he had breakfast
enough.

Mr. Crow then proceeded to pass the morning very pleasantly, by making
calls on his friends. He enjoyed their surprise at seeing his bandaged
foot.

"I've the worst case of gout Aunt Polly Woodchuck has ever seen," he told
every one with an air of pride.

When lunch time came, it found Mr. Crow with a hearty appetite. And once
more he felt in his left-hand pocket to see what he might have for his
meal.

He pulled out a squirming field-mouse. Mr. Crow was about to eat him; but
the mouse slipped away and hid in a hollow stump. So Mr. Crow lost him.
Then he went soaring off across the pasture. And when he came home again
he didn't seem hungry at all. Whatever he may have found to eat, it
seemed to satisfy him.

By this time Mr. Crow had quite recovered from the fear that had seized
him when he first discovered his swollen foot. And before he went to
sleep that night he thought he would take the bandage off his foot and
look at it. He had some trouble in removing the bandage. And when he
had succeeded in unwinding it he could hardly believe his eyes. His foot
was its natural size again!

Old Mr. Crow looked at the bandage. And he saw, clinging to it, a mass of
caked mud. He could not understand that.

"Anyhow, I'm cured," he said sadly. He was disappointed, because there
were still a good many of his friends to whom he had not yet shown his
bandaged foot. "I don't consider that Aunt Polly Woodchuck is as good a
doctor as people say," Mr. Crow grumbled. "Here she's gone and cured my
foot almost a week before I wanted her to!"

And the next day he went over to see the old lady and complain about her
mistake.

"What have you been eating?" she asked Mr. Crow.

He told her.

"Ah!" said Aunt Polly. "It's