CORBIE 



with that beak of his. Sometimes it was a Httle crowbar 

 for Ufting stones or bits of wood when he wanted to see 

 what was underneath; for as every outdoor child, either 

 crow or human, knows, very, very interesting things hve 

 in such places. Sometimes it was a spade for digging in 

 the dirt. Sometimes it was a pick for loosening up old 

 wood in the hollow tree where he kept his best treasures. 

 Sometimes it worked like a nut-cracker, sometimes like a 

 pair of forceps, and sometimes — oh, you can think of a 

 dozen tools that beak of Corbie's was like. He was as 

 well off as if he had a whole carpenter's chest with him 

 all the time. But mostly it served like a child's thumb 

 and forefinger, to pick berries, or to untie the bright 

 hair-ribbons of the Blue-eyed Girl or the shoe-laces of 

 the Brown-eyed Boy. And once in a long, long while, 

 when some stupid child or Grown-Up, who did not know 

 how to be civil to a crow, used him roughly, his beak be- 

 came a weapon with which to pinch and to strike until 

 his enemy was black and blue. For Corbie learned, as 

 every sturdy person must, in some way or other, how to 

 protect himself when there was need. 



Yes, Corbie's beak was wonderful. Of course, lips are 

 better on people in many ways than beaks would be; but 

 we cannot do one tenth so many things with our mouths 

 as Corbie could with his. To be sure, we do not need to, 

 for we have hands to help us out. If our arms had grown 



115 



