corbie's great-great-grandfather ruled a large flock from his look-out throne on a tall pine stump, where he could see far and wide, and judge for his people where they should feed and when they should fly.
his great-grandfather was famous for his collections of old china and other rare treasures, having lived in the woods near the town dump, where he picked up many a bright trinket, chief among which was an old gold-plated watch-chain, which he kept hidden in a doll's red tea-cup when he was not using it.
his grandfather was a handsome fellow, so glistening that he looked rather purple when he walked in the sunshine; and he had a voice so sweet and mellow that any minstrel might have been proud of it, though he seldom sang, and it is possible that no one but corbie's grandmother heard it at its best. he was, moreover, a merry soul, fond of a joke, and always ready to dance a jig, with a chuckle, when anything very funny happened in crowdom.
as for the wisdom and beauty of his grandmothers all the way back, there is so much to be said that, if i once began to tell about them, there would be no space left for the story of corbie himself.[pg 101]
in this mother crow had laid her eggs. in this mother crow had laid her eggs.
[pg 102]
of course, coming from a family like that, corbie was sure to be remarkable; for there is no doubt at all that we inherit many traits of our ancestors.
corbie knew very little about his own father and mother, for he was adopted into a human family when he was ten days old, and a baby at that age does not remember much.
although he was too young to realize it, those first ten days after he had come out of his shell, and those before that, while he was growing inside his shell, were in some ways the most important of his life, for it was then that he needed the most tender and skillful care. well, he had it; for the gentleness and skill of father and mother crow left nothing to be desired. they had built the best possible nest for their needs by placing strong sticks criss-cross high up in an old pine tree. for a lining they had stripped soft stringy bark from a wild grapevine, and had finished off with a bit of still softer dried grass.
in this mother crow had laid her five bluish-green eggs marked with brown; and she and father crow had shared, turn and turn about, the long task of keeping their babies inside those beautiful shells warm enough so that they could grow.
and grow they did, into five as homely little objects as ever broke their way out of good-looking eggshells.[pg 103] there was not down on their bodies to make them fluffy and pretty, like peter piper's children. they were just sprawling little bits of crow-life, so helpless that it would have been quite pitiful if they had not had a good patient mother and a father who seemed never to get tired of hunting for food.
now, it takes a very great deal of food for five young crows, because each one on some days will eat more than half his own weight and beg for more. dear, dear! how they did beg! every time either father or mother crow came back to the nest, those five beaks would open so wide that the babies seemed to be yawning way down to the end of their red throats. oh, the food that got stuffed into them! good and nourishing, every bit of it; for a proper diet is as important to a bird baby as to a human one. juicy caterpillars—a lot of them: enough to eat up a whole berry-patch if the crows hadn't found them; nutty-flavored grasshoppers—a lot of them, too; so many, in fact, that it looked very much as if crows were the reason the grasshoppers were so nearly wiped out that year that they didn't have a chance to trouble the farmers' crops; and now and then a dainty egg was served them in the most tempting crow-fashion, that is, right from the beak of the parent.
for, as you no doubt have heard, a crow thinks no more of helping himself to an egg of a wild bird than we[pg 104] do of visiting the nests of tame birds, such as hens and geese and turkeys, and taking the eggs they lay. of course, it would not occur to a crow that he didn't have a perfect right to take such food for himself and his young as he could find in his day's hunting. indeed, it is not unlikely that, if a crow did any real thinking about the matter, he might decide that robins and meadowlarks were his chickens anyway. so what the other birds would better do about it is to hide their nests as well as ever they can, and be quiet when they come and go.
that is the way father and mother crow did, themselves, when they built their home where the pine boughs hid it from climbers below and from fliers above. and, though you might hardly believe it of a crow, they were still as mice whenever they came near it, alighting first on trees close by, and slipping up carefully between the branches, to be sure no enemy was following their movements. then they would greet their babies with a comforting low "caw," which seemed to mean, "never fear, little ones, we've brought you a very good treat." yes, they were shy, those old crows, when they were near their home, and very quiet they kept their affairs until their young got into the habit of yelling, "kah, kah, kah," at the top of their voices whenever they were hungry, and of mumbling loudly, "gubble-gubble-gubble," whenever they were eating.[pg 105]
after that time comes, there is very little quiet within the home of a crow; and all the world about may guess, without being a bit clever, where the nest is. a good thing it is for the noisy youngsters that by that time they are so large that it does not matter quite so much.
but it was before the "kah-and-gubble" habit had much more than begun that corbie was adopted; and the nestlings were really as still as could be when the father of the brown-eyed boy and the blue-eyed girl climbed way, way, way up that big tree and looked into the round little room up there. there was no furniture—none at all. just one bare nursery, in which five babies were staying day and night. yet it was a tidy room, fresh and sweet enough for anybody to live in; for a crow, young or old, is a clean sort of person.
the father of the brown-eyed boy and the blue-eyed girl looked over the five homely, floundering little birds, and, choosing corbie, put him into his hat and climbed down with him. he was a nimble sort of father, or he never could have done it, so tall a tree it was, with no branches near the ground.
corbie, even at ten days old, was not like the spry children of peter piper, who could run about at one day old, all ready for picnics and teetering along the shore. no, indeed! he was almost as helpless and quite as floppy as a human baby, and he needed as good care,[pg 106] too. he needed warmth enough and food enough and a clean nest to live in; and he needed to be kept safe from such prowling animals as will eat young birds, and from other enemies. all these things his father and mother had looked out for.
now the little corbie was kidnaped—taken away from his home and the loving and patient care of his parents.
but you need not be sorry for corbie—not very. for the brown-eyed boy and the blue-eyed girl adopted the little chap, and gave him food enough and warmth enough and a chance to keep his new nest clean; and they did it all with love and patience, too.
corbie kept them busy, for they were quick to learn that, when he opened his beak and said, "kah," it was meal-time, even if he had had luncheon only ten minutes before. his throat was very red and very hollow, and seemed ready to swallow no end of fresh raw egg and bits of raw beef and earthworms and bread soaked in milk. not that he had to have much at a time, but he needed so very many meals a day. it was fun to feed the little fellow, because he grew so fast and because he was so comical when he called, "kah."
it was not long before his body looked as if he had a crop of paint-brushes growing all over it; for a feather, when it first comes, is protected by a little case, and the[pg 107] end of the feather, which sticks out of the tip of the case, does look very much like the soft hairs at the end of a paint-brush, the kind that has a hollow quill stem, you know. after they were once started, dear me, how those feathers grew! it seemed no time at all before they covered up the ear-holes in the side of his head, and no time at all before a little bristle fringe grew down over the nose-holes in his long horny beak.
he was nearly twenty days old before he could stand up on his toes like a grown-up crow. before that, when he stood up in his nest and "kahed" for food, he stood on his whole foot way back to the heel, which looks like a knee, only it bends the wrong way. when he was about three weeks old, however, he began standing way up on his toes, and stretching his leg till his heels came up straight. then he would flap his wings and exercise them, too.
of course, you can guess what that meant. it meant—yes, it meant that corbie was getting ready to leave his nest; and before the brown-eyed boy and the blue-eyed girl really knew what was happening, corbie went for his first ramble. he stepped out of his nest-box, which had been placed on top of a flat, low shed, and strolled up the steep roof of the woodshed, which was within reach. there he stood on the ridge-pole, the little tike, and yelled, "caw," in almost a grown-up way, as if[pg 108] he felt proud and happy. perhaps he did for a while. it really was a trip to be proud of for one's very first walk in the world.
but the exercise made him hungry, and he soon yelled, "kah!" in a tone that meant, "bring me my luncheon this minute or i'll beg till you do."
the brown-eyed boy took a dish of bread and milk to the edge of the low roof, where the nest-box had been placed, and the blue-eyed girl called, "come and get it, corbie."
not corbie! he had always had his meals brought to him. he liked service, that crow. and besides, maybe he couldn't walk down the roof it had been so easy to run up. anyway, his voice began to sound as if he were scared as well as hungry, and later as if he were more scared than hungry.
now it stood to reason that corbie's meals could not be served him every fifteen minutes on the ridge-pole of a steep roof. so the long ladder had to be brought out, and the crow carried to the ground and advised to keep within easy reach until he could use his wings.
it was only a few days until corbie could fly down from anything he could climb up; and from that hour he never lacked for amusement. of course, the greedy little month-old baby found most of his fun for a while in being fed. "kah! kah! kah!" he called from sun-up to[pg 109] sun-down, keeping the brown-eyed boy and the blue-eyed girl busy digging earthworms and cutworms and white grubs, and soaking bread in milk for him. "gubble-gubble-gubble," he said as he swallowed it—it was all so very good.
"kah! kah! kah!" he called from sun-up to sun-down. "kah! kah! kah!" he called from sun-up to sun-down.
the joke of it was that corbie, even then, had a secret—his first one. he had many later on. but the very first one seems the most wonderful, somehow. yes, he could feed himself long before he let his foster brother and sister know it; and i think, had he been a wild crow instead of a tame one, he would have fooled his own father and mother the same way—the little rascal.
no one would think, to see him with beak up and open, and with fluttering wings held out from his sides, that[pg 110] the little chap begging "kah! kah! kah!" was old enough to do more than "gubble" the food that was poked into his big throat. but for all that, when the brown-eyed boy forgot the dish of earthworms and ran off to play, corbie would listen until he could hear no one near, and then cock his bright eye down over the wriggling worms. then, very slyly, he would pick one up with a jerk and catch it back into his mouth. one by one he would eat the worms, until he wanted no more; and then he would hide the rest by poking them into cracks or covering them with chips, crooning the while over his secret joke. "there-there-tuck-it-there," was what his croon sounded like; but if the brown-eyed boy or the blue-eyed girl came near, he would flutter out his wings at his sides and lift his open beak, his teasing "kah" seeming to say, "honest, i haven't had a bite to eat since you fed me last."
when his body was grown so big with his stuffing that he was almost a full-sized crow, he stopped his constant begging for food. the days of his greed were only the days of his growth needs, and the world was too full of adventures to spend all his time just eating.
it was now time for him to take pleasure in his sense of sight, and for a few, weeks he went nearly crazy with joy over yellow playthings. he strewed the vegetable garden with torn and tattered squash-blossoms—gorgeous[pg 111] bits of color that it was such fun to find hidden under the big green leaves! he strutted to the flower-garden, and pulled off all the yellow pansies, piling them in a heap. he jumped for the golden buttercups, nipping them from their stems. he danced for joy among the torn dandelion blooms he threw about the lawn. for corbie was like a human baby in many ways. he must handle what he loved, and spoil it with his playing.
perhaps corbie inherited his dancing from his grandfather. it may have come down to him with that old crow's merry spirit. whether it was all his own or in part his grandfather's, it was a wonderful dance, so full of joy that the brown-eyed boy and the blue-eyed girl would leave their play to watch him, and would call the grown-ups of the household, that they, too, might see corbie's "happy dance."
if he was pleased with his cleverness in hiding some pretty beetle in a crack and covering it with a chip, he danced. if he spied the shiny nails in the tool-shed, he danced. if he found a gay ribbon to drag about the yard, he danced. but most and best he danced on a hot day when he was given a bright basin of water. singing a lively chattering tune, he came to his bath. he cocked one bright eye and then the other over the ripples his beak made in the water. plunging in, he splashed long, cooling flutters. then he danced back and forth from[pg 112] the doorstep to his glistening pan, chattering his funny tune the while.
have you heard of a highland fling or a sailor's hornpipe? well, corbie's happy dance was as gay as both together, when he jigged in the dooryard to the tune of his own merry chatter. the brown-eyed boy and the blue-eyed girl laughed to see him, and the grown-ups laughed. and even as they laughed, their hearts danced with the little black crow—he made them feel so very glad about the bath. for he had been too warm and was now comfortable. the summer sun on his feathered body had tired him, and the cooling water brought relief. "thanks be for the bath. o bird, be joyful for the bath!" he chattered in his own language, as he spread his wings and gave again and yet again his happy dance.
but a basin, however bright, is not enough to keep a crow in the dooryard; for a crow is a bird of adventure.
so it was that on a certain day corbie flew over the cornfield and over the tree-tops to the river; and so quiet were his wings, that the brown-eyed boy and the blue-eyed girl did not hear his coming, and they both jumped when he perched upon a tiny rock near by and screamed, "caw," quite suddenly, as one child says, "boo," to another, to surprise him. then the bird sang his chatter tune, and found a shallow place near the bank, where he[pg 113] splashed and bathed. after that, the blue-eyed girl showed him a little water-snail. he turned it over in his beak and dropped it. it meant no more to him than a pebble. "i think you'll like to eat it, corbie," said the brown-eyed boy, breaking the shell and giving it to him again; "even people eat snails, i've heard."
corbie took the morsel and swallowed it, and soon was cracking for himself all the snails his comrades gave him. but that was not enough, for their eyes were only the eyes of children and his bright bird eyes could find them twice as fast. so he waded in the river, playing "i spy" with his foster brother and sister, and beating them, too, at the game, though they had hunted snails as many summers as he had minutes.
he enjoyed doing many of the same things the children did. it was that, and his sociable, merry ways, that made him such a good playfellow, and because he wanted them to be happy in his pleasure and to praise his clever tricks. like other children, eating when he was hungry gave him joy, and at times he made a game of it that was fun for them all. every now and then he would go off quietly by himself, and fill the hollow of his throat with berries from the bushes near the river-bank and, flying back to his friends, would spill out his fruit, uncrushed, in a little pile beside them while he crooned and chuckled about it. he seemed to have the same sort of good time[pg 114] picking berries in his throat cup and showing how many he had found that the children did in seeing which could first fill a tin cup before they sat down on the rocks to eat them.
one day the brown-eyed boy and the blue-eyed girl were down by the river, hunting for pearls. a pearl-hunter had shown them how to open freshwater clamshells without killing the clams. suddenly corbie walked up and, taking one of these hard-shelled animals right out of their hands, he flew high overhead and dropped it down on the rocks near by. of course that broke the shell and of course corbie came down and ate the clam, without needing any vinegar or butter on it to make it taste good to him. how he learned to do this, the children never knew. perhaps he found out by just happening to drop one he was carrying, or perhaps he saw the wild crows drop their clams to break the shells: for after nesting season they used often to come down from the mountainside to fish by the river for snails and clams and crayfish, when they were not helping the farmers by eating up insects in the fields.
corbie liked the crayfish, too, as well as people like lobsters and crabs, and he had many an exciting hunt, poking under the stones for them and pulling them out with his strong beak.
there seemed to be no end of things corbie could do[pg 115] with that beak of his. sometimes it was a little crowbar for lifting stones or bits of wood when he wanted to see what was underneath; for as every outdoor child, either crow or human, knows, very, very interesting things live in such places. sometimes it was a spade for digging in the dirt. sometimes it was a pick for loosening up old wood in the hollow tree where he kept his best treasures. sometimes it worked like a nut-cracker, sometimes like a pair of forceps, and sometimes—oh, you can think of a dozen tools that beak of corbie's was like. he was as well off as if he had a whole carpenter's chest with him all the time. but mostly it served like a child's thumb and forefinger, to pick berries, or to untie the bright hair-ribbons of the blue-eyed girl or the shoe-laces of the brown-eyed boy. and once in a long, long while, when some stupid child or grown-up, who did not know how to be civil to a crow, used him roughly, his beak became a weapon with which to pinch and to strike until his enemy was black and blue. for corbie learned, as every sturdy person must, in some way or other, how to protect himself when there was need.
yes, corbie's beak was wonderful. of course, lips are better on people in many ways than beaks would be; but we cannot do one tenth so many things with our mouths as corbie could with his. to be sure, we do not need to, for we have hands to help us out. if our arms had grown[pg 116] into wings, though, as a bird's arms do, how should we ever get along in this world?
corbie slipped off and amused himself. corbie slipped off and amused himself.
the weeks passed by. a happy time for corbie, whether he played with the children or slipped off and amused himself, as he had a way of doing now and then, after he grew old enough to feel independent. the world for him was full of adventure and joy. he never once asked, "what can i do now to amuse me?" never once.[pg 117] his brain was so active that he could fill every place and every hour full to the brim of interest. he had a merry way about him, and a gay chatter that seemed to mean, "oh, life to a crow is joy! joy!" and because of all this, it was not only the brown-eyed boy and the blue-eyed girl who loved him. he won the hearts of even the grown-ups, who had sometimes found it hard to be patient with him during the first noisy days, when he tired them with his frequent baby "kah-and-gubble," before he could feed himself.
but, however bold and dashing he was during the day, whatever the sunny hours had held of mirth and dancing, whichever path he had trod or flown, whomever he had chummed with—when it was the time of dusk, little corbie sought the one he loved best of all, the one who had been most gentle with him, and snuggling close to the side of the blue-eyed girl, tucked his head into her sleeve or under the hem of her skirt, and crooned his sleepy song which seemed to mean:—
oh! soft and warm the crow in the nest
finds the fluff of his mother's breast.
oh! well he sleeps, for she folds him tight—
safe from the owl that flies by night.
oh! far her wings have fluttered away,
nor does it matter in the day.
but keep me, pray, till again 't is light,
safe from the owl that flies by night.[pg 118]
thus, long after he would have been weaned, for his own good, from such care, had he remained wild, corbie, the tame crow, claimed protection with cunning, cuddling ways that taught the blue-eyed girl and her brother and the grown-ups, too, something about crows that many people never even guess. for all their rollicking care-free ways, there is, hidden beneath their black feathers, an affection very tender and lasting; and when they are given the friendship of humans, they find touching ways of showing how deep their trust can be.
before the summer was over, corbie had as famous a collection as his great grandfather. the children knew where he kept it, and used sometimes to climb up to look at his playthings. they never disturbed them except to take out the knitting-needle, thimble, spoons, or things like that, which were needed in the house. the bright penny someone had given him, the shiny nails, the brass-headed tacks, the big white feather, the yellow marble, all the bits of colored glass, and an old watch, they left where he put them; for they thought that he loved his things, or he would not have hidden them together; and they thought, and so do i, that he had as much right to his treasures to look at and care for as the brown-eyed boy had to his collection of pretty stones and the blue-eyed girl to the flowers in her wild garden.
after his feathers were grown, in the spring, corbie[pg 119] had been really good-looking in his black suit; but by the first of september he was homely again. his little side-feather moustache dropped out at the top of his beak, so that his nostrils were uncovered as they had been when he was very young. the back of his head was nearly bald, and his neck and breast were ragged and tattered.
yes, corbie was molting, and he had a very unfinished sort of look while the new crop of paint-brushes sprouted out all over him. but it was worth the discomforts of the molt to have the new feather coat, all shiny black; and corbie was even handsomer than he had been during the summer, when cold days came, and he needed his warm thick suit.
at this time all the wild crows that had nested in that part of the country flew every night from far and wide to the famous crow-roost, not far from a big peach orchard. they came down from the mountain that showed like a long blue ridge against the sky. they flew across a road that looked, on account of the color of the dirt, like a pinkish-red ribbon stretching off and away. they left the river-edge and the fields. every night they gathered together, a thousand or more of them. corbie's father and mother were among them, and corbie's two brothers and two sisters. but corbie was not with those thousand crows.
no cage held him, and no one prevented his flying[pg 120] whither he wished; but corbie stayed with the folk who had adopted him. a thousand wild crows might come and go, calling in their flight, but corbie, though free, chose for his comrades the brown-eyed boy and the blue-eyed girl.
i thought all along it would be so if they were good to him; and that is why i said, the day he was kidnaped, that you need not be sorry for corbie—not very.
