hells and other white, shiny
things. He spread them out in the sun, turned them over, turned them one
by one in his beak, dropped them, nestled on them as though they were
eggs, toyed with them and gloated over them like a miser. This was his
hobby, his weakness. He could not have explained why he enjoyed them,
any more than a boy can explain why he collects postage-stamps, or a
girl why she prefers pearls to rubies; but his pleasure in them was very
real, and after half an hour he covered them all, including the new
one, with earth and leaves, and flew off. I went at once to the spot
and examined the hoard; there was about a hatfull in all, chiefly white
pebbles, clam-shells, and some bits of tin, but there was also the
handle of a china cup, which must have been the gem of the collection.
That was the last time I saw them. Silverspot knew that I had found his
treasures, and he removed them at once; where, I never knew.

During the space that I watched him so closely he had many little
adventures and escapes. He was once severely handled by a sparrowhawk,
and often he was chased and worried by kingbirds. Not that these did him
much harm, but they were such noisy pests that he avoided their company
as quickly as possible, just as a grown man avoids a conflict with a
noisy and impudent small boy. He had some cruel tricks, too. He had a
way of going the round of the small birds' nests each morning to eat the
new laid eggs, as regularly as a doctor visiting his patients. But we
must not judge him for that, as it is just what we ourselves do to the
hens in the barnyard.

His quickness of wit was often shown. One day I saw him flying down the
ravine with a large piece of bread in his bill. The stream below him was
at this time being bricked over as a sewer. There was one part of two
hundred yards quite finished, and, as he flew over the open water just.
above this, the bread fell from his bill, and was swept by the current
out of sight into the tunnel. He flew down and peered vainly into
the dark cavern, then, acting upon a happy thought, he flew to the
downstream end of the tunnel, and awaiting the reappearance of the
floating bread, as it was swept onward by the current, he seized and
bore it off in triumph.

Silverspot was a crow of the world. He was truly a successful crow. He
lived in a region that, though full of dangers, abounded with food. In
the old, unrepaired nest lie raised a brood each year with his wife,
who