Jack Crow 75 



In hundreds they came, and blackened the sky as they 

 passed, to alight in the skirts of the woods and turn their 

 shade to ebon. The small flocks for miles around seemed 

 to collect to form one great winter camp in the old pine 

 forest. 



In the daytime they departed for the few meagre feed- 

 ing-grounds that had been hunted up over the country. 

 A big flock usually took the lead, sailing straight in a 

 dense mass, and followed by a few scattering small flocks, 

 while far in the rear came the stragglers who had for- 

 gotten to start on time. 



Sometimes great numbers of them lined the old rail 

 fence. In the fall an old rail fence and a crow belong to 

 each other. There was a change in their attitude now. 

 They were not bubbling over with life as a few months 

 ago. Even curiosity was dulled. They had put on the 

 mood of another season. They sat with heads hunched 

 down between their pointed shoulders, and they sat for 

 long spells. There was something ominous in their quiet. 

 Winter meant something worse for the crows out there 

 in the cold than it did for the farmer and his pet crow 

 in his snug nest with the old dog at home. 



Jack Crow weathered the winter in happiness. In the 

 yard there was an old half dead apple tree where he used 

 to sit and jeer at the dog, when he had been nipping some 

 dinner. But the dog wasn't the only one who scolded 

 the little torment. This old apple tree was the crow's 

 favorite den, and here he stored his treasures. He re- 

 treated here for safety and, perched on a limb out of 

 reach, he would cock his head on one side and listen gravely 

 to the powerless threats sent up to him. We never could 



