The Tale of Old Mr. Crow Part 2

The next day, however, the men had moved further down the field. Mr. Crow had been waiting for that. He flew to the edge of the ploughed ground, which they had planted the afternoon before, and dug up a kernel of corn.

He didn't stop to look at it. He knew it was corn--just by the feeling of it. And it was inside his mouth in a twinkling.

And in another twinkling it was outside again--for Mr. Crow did not like the taste at all.

"That's a bad one!" he remarked. And then he tried another kernel--and another--and another. But they were all like the first one.

Thereupon, Mr. Crow paused and looked at the corn. And he saw at once that there was something wrong. The kernels were gray, instead of a golden yellow. He pecked at one of them and found that the gray coating hid something black and sticky.

That was tar, though Mr. Crow did not know it. And the gray covering was wood-ashes, in which Farmer Green had rolled the corn after dipping it in tar. The tar made the corn taste bad. And the wood-ashes kept it from sticking to one's fingers.

"This is a great disappointment," said Mr. Crow very solemnly. "Of all the mean tricks that Farmer Green has played on me, this is by far the meanest. It would serve him right if I went away and never caught a single gra.s.shopper or cutworm all summer."

But there were two reasons that prevented Mr. Crow's leaving Pleasant Valley. He liked his old home. And he liked gra.s.shoppers and cutworms, too. So he stayed until October. And the strange part of it was that he never once discovered that Farmer Green had planted tarred corn only in a border around the field. Inside that border the corn was of the good, old yellow kind that Mr. Crow liked.

And so, for once, Farmer Green out-witted old Mr. Crow.

By the end of the summer his corn had grown so tall and borne so many big ears that Farmer Green took some of it to the county fair. And everybody who saw it there said that it was the finest corn that ever was seen in those parts.

VI

MR. CROW IN TROUBLE

After Mr. Crow found that Farmer Green had put tar on his corn, Mr. Crow was so angry that he flew for a good many miles before stopping. And then, as he started to walk along the limb that lead to his house in the tall elm, he noticed for the first time that he could hardly move his right foot.

He looked down and he was startled when he saw that his foot was many times its usual size. Moreover, it did not look like a foot at all, being a strange, huge, shapeless thing.

Old Mr. Crow was alarmed. Never in all his life had he found himself in such a plight. He stayed at home only long enough to tie his foot up in a bandage, which made it look bigger than ever. And then he hurried off as fast as he could fly to call upon Aunt Polly Woodchuck, who was said to be an excellent doctor.

Aunt Polly was at home. And since Mr. Crow could not crawl inside her house, she received him in her dooryard.

As soon as she looked at Mr. Crow's foot Aunt Polly Woodchuck threw up both her hands.

"You have gout!" she cried. "And it's the worst case I ever saw."

That made Mr. Crow feel proud and happy.

"What about a cure?" he inquired. "I shouldn't like to have my foot like this always. If you could cure it in a week I would be satisfied. But I want at least a week in which to show my foot to my friends."

"You'll be lucky if you're better in a month," said Aunt Polly Woodchuck.

"You must be very careful about what you eat. You may have all the ginseng and Jimson weed and elecampane that you wish. And drink plenty of catnip tea! But until you're quite well again, don't touch corn, gra.s.shoppers, birds' eggs, field-mice, or elderberries. If you eat such things your other foot may swell. And then you'd be unable to walk at all."

Mr. Crow was no longer happy.

"Those are the things I like best--the last that you mentioned," he said.

"And the food you tell me I may have is exactly the kind I've never cared for in the least. As for catnip tea, I can't swallow it!" he groaned.

"Haven't you some other remedy? Can't you give me a pill?"

But Aunt Polly Woodehuck said there was no other way.

"I never can remember what you've told me," Mr. Crow objected.

"I can fix that," said Aunt Polly. And then she went into her house, returning presently with a basket. From the basket she drew forth a handful of herbs, which she gave to Mr. Crow.

"Take these," she said, "and put them in your right-hand pocket. These are what you may eat--a sample of each herb."

Straightway she gave Mr. Crow two more handfuls of food.

"And here," she continued, "here are things you mustn't eat. Put them in your left-hand pocket. And at dinner time to-night you won't have the least bit of trouble knowing what you're allowed to have."

Mr. Crow thanked her politely. But he felt somewhat angry, just the same.

He saw that he was going to have a very unpleasant time. For if there was one thing that Mr. Crow liked, it was good food--and plenty of it.

VII

MR. CROW'S BAD MEMORY

It was true, as Mr. Crow had said, that he had a bad memory. By the time he reached home he had forgotten almost everything the famous doctor, Aunt Polly Woodchuck, had said to him. About all Mr. Crow could recall of their talk was that Aunt Polly had told him his swollen foot was caused by gout; and that she had given him samples of such food as he might eat, and also such as he mightn't.

He had put the two kinds in different pockets, just as Aunt Polly had suggested. And all he had to do when he was hungry was to look into his pockets and see what food he might safely choose for his meal. Well, Mr.

Crow was hungry as a bear by the time he reached his house. And the first thing he did was to feel in his left-hand pocket. He drew forth a kernel of corn.

"Good!" he cried. "That's exactly what I'd like for my dinner. And if Farmer Green hadn't tarred his corn before planting it I know exactly where I'd go." Then he thought deeply for a few minutes. "I'll go over to the corn-crib and see if I can't find some corn on the ground!" he exclaimed a little later. While he was thinking he ate the sample of corn, without once noticing what he did.

So Mr. Crow flew swiftly to the farm-yard. It happened that there was n.o.body about. And, luckily, Mr. Crow found enough corn scattered near the door of the corn-crib to furnish him with a good dinner.

The next morning, as soon as it began to grow light (for Mr. Crow was an early riser), he felt in his left-hand pocket once more. And he pulled out an elderberry.

"That won't do!" he said. "It's too early in the season for elderberries." But he ate the sample--though he found it rather dry, for it was a last year's berry. And then he fished a bird's egg out of the same pocket. "My favorite breakfast!" he remarked. He ate the egg. And at once he started out to hunt for more. Some people say that he robbed the nests of several small birds before he had breakfast enough.

Mr. Crow then proceeded to pa.s.s the morning very pleasantly, by making calls on his friends. He enjoyed their surprise at seeing his bandaged foot.

"I've the worst case of gout Aunt Polly Woodchuck has ever seen," he told every one with an air of pride.

When lunch time came, it found Mr. Crow with a hearty appet.i.te. And once more he felt in his left-hand pocket to see what he might have for his meal.

He pulled out a squirming field-mouse. Mr. Crow was about to eat him; but the mouse slipped away and hid in a hollow stump. So Mr. Crow lost him.

Then he went soaring off across the pasture. And when he came home again he didn't seem hungry at all. Whatever he may have found to eat, it seemed to satisfy him.

By this time Mr. Crow had quite recovered from the fear that had seized him when he first discovered his swollen foot. And before he went to sleep that night he thought he would take the bandage off his foot and look at it. He had some trouble in removing the bandage. And when he had succeeded in unwinding it he could hardly believe his eyes. His foot was its natural size again!