A CRUISE WITH A CROW. 47 
‘You ca-ant! You ca-ant!’ croaked the 
old crow from afar, and apparently the man 
couldn’t. He fired one shot, and got nothing ; 
but one of the peewits of the flock flew away 
with an odd little shiver, and him the gray 
crow watched with his telescope eyes. 
Later he found the peewit sitting all alone 
by a marsh-pool, acting as if he had a bone in 
his throat. The old crow knew better, though. 
The ‘bone’ was of lead, and when the peewit 
lay down he put the poor bird out of its misery 
in his own strange way, and attended the 
funeral, keeping off three hungry jackdaws in 
the process. 
Three mornings later we find our lonely old 
Norseman on the sandhills that march with 
the shore ’twixt Deal and Sandwich. He was 
just finishing the task of neatly turning a baby 
rabbit’s skin inside-out like a glove. There 
had been a live baby rabbit inside that skin 
when he found it—not after. 
And that afternoon, on a high S.W. wind, 
all alone, and without reason given, he calmly 
flew out to sea, straight into the east, and, 
dwindling from a bird to a speck, and a speck 
to nothing, Was seen no more. 
Many, many hundreds of miles away, in far, 
far northern Russia, there is a great river, 
