Jack Crow 71 



We made a home out of a dry-goods box for the three 

 little waifs, and they seemed happy in their adoption. It 

 was interesting to watch them play. When they were little 

 fellows and couldn't fly much and had to help them- 

 selves along with their wings, they would gather about the 

 old splitting-block in the back yard and chase each other 

 around and around. Sometimes they hopped over the 

 block, chippering and cawing all the time as if they really 

 understood and enjoyed it. It looked like real baby play. 



They had another game which seemed to bring out 

 all the humor in their bird natures, though you never 

 would have guessed it by their faces. They would get 

 a piece of paper, or something light, and all climb up 

 on the block, and one of them would drop it off. The 

 other two would make a dive for it as it fluttered down, 

 and one of them would get it. It was his turn then, so 

 they stalked slowly back and again took their places on 

 the block. And so the game went. They were only 

 little chicks and often it took three or four tries for them 

 to get over the big block. Finally, they would make such 

 a racket that old Jack, the dog, would interfere and pitch 

 into them as if he were going to eat them alive, and then 

 they would scatter and do something else. As they grew 

 older, baby ways were forgotten. Crow craft took the 

 place of amusement, and they were stealing and hiding 

 things instead of playing. 



The three little crows lived with us for several weeks. 

 One night there came on a cold snap late in the season, 

 and in the morning we found two of the birds dead in 

 the box. The cripple was left. 



After the two crows were gone the one that was left 



