I wish there were time to tell about all the 
unusual things that Jim Crow did that summer, 
and the many troubles that came to the house- 
hold on account of him. If I undertook to do 
this, however, I should have to tell of the time 
he flew on the window -sill of the kitchen and 
pecked holes in two fresh pies that had been 
placed there to cool; of the time when he went 
into Miss Jennie’s room, and turned over the 
ink bottle on her nice new stationery; how he 
got into the feed trough in the barn one day 
and so frightened the horse of a visiting gentle- 
man that it broke its halter and had to be 
chased for a mile over the rice-fields before it 
was caught again. Then there was the day 
when he plugged the finest watermelon in the 
patch after it had been brought to the house 
for Miss Jennie to take to a picnic. But we 
can mention only a few of his many scrapes. 
Perhaps enough has been told to show you that 
Jim Crow was a very mischievous bird, and that 
while he gave pleasure to Howard and Uncle 
Pete he was no end of annoyance to Miss Jennie 
and the colored girls in the kitchen. 
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