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fury from the apple-tree and he flew 

 straight at the dignified gentleman in 

 black, picking at his eyes viciously. 



*' Keep off," squawked the old crow. 

 '' I don't want you. I have half a mind 

 to kill you.'' 



" That's what Fm here for," chattered 

 the fury, and he flew at the crow again 

 and again, striking him upon the head or 

 back at each swoop. 



Then the kingbird (or bee martin as 

 he is also called) was joined by his mate, 

 and they immediately made it so hot for 

 the poor crow, that he flew away at his 

 best pace and left the smaller birds mas- 

 ters of the field. This seemed to tickle 

 them greatly, and with endless chatter 

 they flew back to the apple-tree in the 

 mowing. 



There is more audacity and clear grit 

 tucked away in that little bunch of 



