grateful
creature!" And he caught the Pheasant by one of his long tail-feathers.

"Let go my train, impertinent wretch!" shrieked the Peacock's cousin,
turning upon him fiercely. "I tell you I have no time to spend in such
nonsense. I must be presenting myself in high society."

"Villain!" croaked the Crow, and he rushed forward fiercely, intending
to tear out the beautiful feathers which he had painted for his
ungrateful friend. Thereupon the Pheasant exclaimed,--

"You want to be painted, do you? Well, take _that_!" and, seizing the
bottle of India ink which was in the Eastern artist's paint-box, he
hurled it at the poor Crow, deluging with blackness his spotless
feathers. Then laughing harshly, away he flew to his cousin the Peacock,
who received him with proud affection, because they were now really
birds of a feather. For the Peacock's cousin was become one of the most
beautiful birds in the world.

But the poor Crow was now a sombre, black bird, wearing the
seedy-looking, inky coat which we know so well to-day. His heart was
broken by his friend's faithlessness, and he became a sour cynic who can
see no good in anything. He flies about crying "Caw! Caw!" in the most
disagreeable, sarcastic tone, as if sneering at the mean action of that
Malay bird, which he can never forget.

THE MASQUERADING CROW

The Crow became very sour and disagreeable after his friend the
Peacock's cousin deserted him for more gorgeous company. Though he
pretended not to care because the Pheasant was now a proud,
beautifully-coated dandy, while he was the shabbiest of all the birds in
his coat of rusty black, yet in truth he did care very much. He could
not forget how the Peacock's cousin had dyed him this sombre hue, after
promising to paint him bright and wonderful, like himself. He could not
help thinking how fine he would have looked in similar plumage of a
rainbow tint, or how becoming a long swallow-tail would be to his style
of beauty. He wished that there was a tailor in Birdland to whom he
could go for a new suit of clothes. But alas! There seemed no way but
for him to remain ugly old Crow to the end of the chapter.

The Crow went moping about most unhappily while this was preying on his
mind, until he really became somewhat crazy upon the subject. The only
thing about which he could think was clothes--clothes--clothes; and
that is indeed a foolish matter to absorb one's mind. One word of the
Peacock's cousin remaine