The Tale of Old Mr. Crow by Arthur Scott Bailey
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Arthur Scott Bailey >> The Tale of Old Mr. Crow
Tuck-me-in Tales
THE TALE OF OLD MR. CROW
by
ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY
Author of "Sleepy-Time Tales"
1917
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE OUTLAW
II SOMETHING LOST
III THE GIANT SCARECROW
IV CAUGHT NAPPING
V A GREAT DISAPPOINTMENT
VI MR. CROW IN TROUBLE
VII MR. CROW'S BAD MEMORY
VIII THE NEW UMBRELLA
IX CAUGHT IN THE RAIN
X A QUEER TOADSTOOL
XI MR. CROW'S PLAN
XII A RACE WITH THE TRAIN
XIII THE GAME OF CHECKERS
XIV THE LUCKY LAUGH
XV MR. CROW'S NEW COAT
XVI A TIGHT FIT
XVII THE STRANGE BUTTONS
XVIII AN UNLUCKY NUMBER
XIX THE SHOE-STORE
XX OLD SHOES FOR NEW
XXI THE CROW CAUCUS
XXII THE TEST
XXIII THE WHITE FLAG
I
THE OUTLAW
A good many of the forest-people claimed that old Mr. Crow was an
outlaw. They said he was always roving about, robbing Farmer Green of
his corn and his chickens, and digging up the potatoes when they shot
their sprouts above the surface of the potato-patch. And everybody was
aware that the old gentleman stole eggs from the nests of his smaller
neighbors. It was even whispered that Mr. Crow had been known to devour
baby robins.
But perhaps some of the things said of him were not true. Though if he
really was an outlaw he seemed to enjoy being one. He usually laughed
whenever Johnnie Green or his father tried to catch him, or when they
attempted to frighten him. And on the whole he was quite the boldest,
noisiest, and most impertinent of all the creatures that lived in
Pleasant Valley.
His house stood in a tall elm, not too far from the cornfield. And those
that dwelt near him never could complain that the neighborhood was
quiet.... It was never quiet where old Mr. Crow was.
Many of the smaller birds feared him. But they couldn't help laughing at
him sometimes--he was so droll, with his solemn face, his sedate walk,
and his comical gestures. As for his voice, it was loud and harsh. And
those that heard too much of it often wished that he would use it less.
Mr. Crow's best friends sometimes remarked that people did not
understand him. They said that he helped Farmer Green more than he
injured him, for he did a great deal in the way of eating beetles,
cutworms and grasshoppers, as well as many other insects that tried
to destroy Farmer Green's crops. So you see he had his good points,
as well as his bad ones.
For a number of years Mr. Crow had spent each summer in Pleasant Valley,
under the shadow of Blue Mountain. He usually arrived from the South in
March and left in October. And though many of his friends stayed in the
North and braved the winter's cold and storms, old Mr. Crow was too fond
of a good meal to risk going hungry after the snow lay deep upon the
ground. At that season, such of his neighbors as remained behind often
dined upon dried berries, which they found clinging to the trees and
bushes. But so long as Mr. Crow could go where it was warmer, and find
sea food along the shore, he would not listen to his friends' pleas
that he spend the winter with them.
"Until I can no longer travel 'as the crow flies,' I shall not spend a
winter here," he would say to them with a solemn wink. That was one of
his favorite jokes. He had heard that when anybody asked Farmer Green how
far it was to the village he always answered, "It's nine miles as the
crow flies"--meaning that it was nine miles in a straight line.
Old Mr. Crow thought that the saying was very funny. But then, he usually
laughed at Farmer Green, no matter what he said or did.
You can see that Mr. Crow was no respecter of persons.
II
SOMETHING LOST
It may seem a strange thing for old Mr. Crow to have had no other
name--such as John, or James, or Josephus. But that was the way he
preferred it to be. Indeed, his parents had given him another name,
years before. But Mr. Crow did not like it. And after he grew up he
dropped the name. To tell the truth, the reason for his coming to
Pleasant Valley, in the beginning, was because no one knew him there.
And though his new friends thought it odd that he should be called
simply "Mr. Crow," he was satisfied.
Of course, that was when he was younger. As the years passed he became
known as "old Mr. Crow." But no one called him that except behind his
back. And since he knew nothing of that, it never annoyed him in the
least.
Now, Mr. Crow had spent a good many pleasant seasons in Pleasant Valley.
And nobody had ever found out much about him. But at last there came a
day when he was very much upset. He was roaming through the woods on a
sunny afternoon when someone called to him.
He stopped. And presently a person in a bright blue coat came hurrying
up. It was a noisy fellow known as Jasper Jay, who was new in the
neighborhood.
"I thought I recognized you," he shouted to Mr. Crow. "As soon as I saw
you fly past I said to myself, 'That looks like Cousin--'"
Mr. Crow stopped him just in time. It was true that the two were cousins.
One look at their big feet and their big bills would have told you that.
Now, Mr. Crow sometimes saw Jasper on the trips he made each fall and
spring. And Jasper knew Mr. Crow's name. He had almost said it, too, at
the top of his boisterous voice.
"What's the matter?" Jasper Jay inquired, for Mr. Crow was looking all
around. "Have you lost anything?"
"Yes!" said Mr. Crow. "I've lost my name. And I don't want to find it
again, either."
What he was really doing was this: He was peering about to see whether
anybody might be listening.
Jasper Jay's mouth fell open--he was so astonished.
"Why, what do you mean, Cousin--"
Mr. Crow stopped him again.
"Don't call me that!" he said severely. "I'm known here as 'Mr. Crow.'
And I'll thank you to call me by that name and no other."
That astonished Jasper Jay all the more, because he had never known Mr.
Crow to thank anybody for anything.
"Well, well!" he murmured faintly. And then it was Mr. Crow's turn to be
surprised, for he had never before heard his cousin Jasper speak in
anything but the loudest scream.
Then Mr. Crow explained that he had never liked the name his parents had
given him and that he wanted nobody in Pleasant Valley to learn what it
was.
"You must promise me," said Mr. Crow--and there was a dangerous glitter
in his eye--"you must promise me that you'll never speak my name again."
"Why, certainly!" Jasper Jay replied. "I'm glad to oblige you, I'm sure.
And I promise that I'll never, never, never again mention your name
aloud, Cousin Jim."
There! The secret is out! Jasper Jay said Mr. Crow's name without once
thinking what he was about. And Mr. Crow was so angry that he gave his
cousin a sound beating, on the spot.
"I'll teach you," he said, "to do as you're told!" And he did. For after
that Jasper Jay always remembered that to him, as to everybody else, his
big black cousin must be known only as "Mr. Crow."
You see, "Jim Crow" was a name that Mr. Crow could not abide. The mere
sound of it made him wince. And he was not a person of tender feelings,
either.
III
THE GIANT SCARECROW
Farmer Green always claimed that Mr. Crow was a ruffian and a robber.
"That old chap has been coming here every summer for years," he said to
his son Johnnie one day. "I always know him when I see him, because he's
the biggest of all the crows that steal my corn."
That was Farmer Green's way of looking at a certain matter. But old Mr.
Crow regarded it otherwise. He knew well enough what Farmer Green thought
of his trick of digging up the newly planted corn. And his own idea and
Farmer Green's did not agree at all.
Now, this matter was something that old Mr. Crow never mentioned unless
somebody else spoke of it first. And then Mr. Crow would shake his head
slowly, and sigh, and say:
"It's strange that Farmer Green doesn't understand how much I help him.
I'm as busy as I can be all summer long, destroying insects that injure
his crops. And since I help Farmer Green to raise his corn, I'm sure I
have as good a right to a share of it as the horses that plough the
field, or the men that hoe it. Farmer Green gives them corn to eat.
But he never once thinks of giving me any."
You see, there are always two sides to every question. And that was Mr.
Crow's. But Farmer Green never knew how Mr. Crow felt about the matter.
And every spring, at corn-planting time, he used to set up scarecrows
in his cornfield, hoping that they would frighten the crows away.
And so they did. At least, some of the younger crows were afraid of those
straw-stuffed dummies, with their hats tipped over their faces, or upon
one side, and their empty sleeves flapping in the winds that swept
through the valley. But old Mr. Crow was too wise to be fooled so easily.
He would scratch up the corn at the very feet of a scarecrow--and chuckle
at the same time.
It must not be supposed that Farmer Green did not know what was going
on. He often caught sight of Mr. Crow in the cornfield. But it always
happened that Mr. Crow saw him too. And Farmer Green could never get
near the old rogue.
At last Johnnie Green's father spent a whole evening trying to think of
some way in which to outwit Mr. Crow. And by bedtime he had hit upon a
plan that he liked.
The next day, with Johnnie to help him, he set to work to build a monster
scarecrow. It was twice as high as the tallest man that was ever seen.
And for a hat Farmer Green set on its straw head a huge tin pan, which
glittered when the sun shone upon it.
"That'll fix him!" said Farmer Green, as he stood off and looked at the
giant. And as for his son Johnnie, he danced up and down and shouted--he
was so pleased.
But Mr. Crow was not pleased when he flew toward the cornfield the next
day and saw the great figure of a man there, with a terrible glittering
helmet upon his head. And Mr. Crow noticed something upon the giant's
shoulder that looked very like a gun.
The old gentleman swerved quickly to one side and never stopped his
flight until he had reached the woods.
And that night Farmer Green felt quite merry.
"I've scared that old crow away at last," he said.
IV
CAUGHT NAPPING
It was several days before Mr. Crow stopped sulking. He was very angry
with Farmer Green for placing the giant in the cornfield. And he told his
friends that he had about made up his mind he would move to some other
neighborhood.
"Farmer Green will be sorry after I'm gone," he remarked. "He'll miss me
when he finds that his crops are being eaten by mildreds of insects."
Whether he meant _millions_ or _hundreds_ it would be hard to say. You
see, Mr. Crow was not good at arithmetic. He always had trouble counting
higher than ten.
And then, the very day before he had planned to move, Mr. Crow noticed
something that made him change his mind. He was sitting in the top of a
tall pine, looking mournfully across the cornfield, where he dared not
go, when he saw a small bird drop down upon the giant's head and
disappear.
"He's eaten her!" Mr. Crow exclaimed. But as he stared, the little bird
appeared again and flew away.
Old Mr. Crow knew it was a mother wren; and he was not long in
discovering that she had built a nest under the tin pan that the giant
wore in place of a hat!
That was enough for Mr. Crow. The secret was out! The thing he had feared
was nothing worse than a straw scarecrow, with a stick stuck over its
shoulder to look like a gun.
The old gentleman felt quite foolish for a time. But he did not let that
fact prevent his scratching up enough corn to make up for the meals he
had lost.
After that he quickly recovered his spirits. And he forgot all about
moving.
But if Mr. Crow felt merry, you may be sure that Farmer Green did not.
It was his turn to feel foolish. And he vowed that he would get even with
Mr. Crow, if it took him all summer.
Meanwhile, Mr. Crow grew careless. He really thought that Farmer Green
wouldn't be able to think of any other way of keeping him out of the
cornfield. And he spent so much of his time there that he grew quite fat.
He became somewhat short-breathed, too. And his voice grew wheezier than
ever. But Mr. Crow did not mind those things. He was getting all the corn
he could eat. And he was happy.
Then there came a morning at last, as he soared down upon the cornfield,
when he noticed that the huge scarecrow was gone. There was another--a
shorter--figure in its place. But to careless Mr. Crow's glance it
seemed no different from the scarecrows he had known all his life. He
paid little or no attention to the image. It wore the big pan upon its
head--he observed that much. And it made him laugh.
Then Mr. Crow began to scratch for his breakfast. But he had not eaten a
single kernel when a terrible roar broke the early morning stillness. And
there was a sound as of hail falling all around him.
Mr. Crow knew right away what had happened. The scarecrow had come to
life and tried to shoot him! And if ever a bird hurried away from that
field, it was old Mr. Crow.
It was almost night before he remembered that he had had nothing to eat
all day. And so anybody can see how frightened he was....
Farmer Green walked home to his own breakfast with his gun resting upon
his shoulder.
"I didn't get him," he told Johnnie. "But I must have scared him out of a
year's growth."
V
A GREAT DISAPPOINTMENT
After Farmer Green came so near shooting him, Mr. Crow lost his taste for
corn for a whole year. He was afraid it would never come back to him. And
he worried so much that he grew quite thin and his feathers began to look
rusty. His friends were somewhat alarmed about his health, many of them
saying that if they were in Mr. Crow's place they would be careful.
Now, strange as it may seem, that was exactly Mr. Crow's trouble. He was
too careful! He was always on the lookout for a gun, or a trap. And being
constantly on guard was bad for his nerves.
Luckily, a winter spent in the South did a great deal to improve Mr.
Crow's health, as well as his state of mind. When he came back to
Pleasant Valley the following March he told his cousin Jasper Jay
that he really felt he would be able to eat corn again.
As the spring lengthened, that feeling grew upon Mr. Crow. And when
planting-time arrived the black rascal had his old look again.
It was a very solemn look--unless you regarded him closely. But it was a
very sly, knowing look if you took the pains to stare boldly into his
eye.
Farmer Green would have liked to do that, because then he might have
caught old Mr. Crow. As it happened, he did _catch sight_ of Mr. Crow the
very first day he began to plant his corn.
"I declare--there's that old crow again!" he exclaimed. "He's come back
to bother me once more. But maybe I'm smarter than he thinks!"
Mr. Crow knew better than to come too near the men who were working in
the cornfield. He just sat on the fence on the further side of the road
and watched them for a while. And he was getting hungrier every minute.
But he had no chance to scratch up any corn that day.
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 grasshopper 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 grasshoppers 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,
grasshoppers, 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
nobody 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 pass 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 appetite. 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!
Old Mr. Crow looked at the bandage. And he saw, clinging to it, a mass of
caked mud. He could not understand that.
"Anyhow, I'm cured," he said sadly. He was disappointed, because there
were still a good many of his friends to whom he had not yet shown his
bandaged foot. "I don't consider that Aunt Polly Woodchuck is as good a
doctor as people say," Mr. Crow grumbled. "Here she's gone and cured my
foot almost a week before I wanted her to!"
And the next day he went over to see the old lady and complain about her
mistake.
"What have you been eating?" she asked Mr. Crow.
He told her.
"Ah!" said Aunt Polly. "It's your mistake--and not mine. You ate what
was in your _left-hand pocket_, instead of what was in the right-hand
one. If you had followed my instructions everything would have been all
right."
Old Mr. Crow felt very much ashamed. There was nothing he could say. So
he slunk away and moped for three days.
Though he did not know it, the trouble with his foot was simply this: He
had daubed so much tar on his foot, in Farmer Green's cornfield, that the
soft earth had stuck to it in a big ball.
Mr. Crow recovered his spirits at last. And neither he nor Aunt Polly
Woodchuck ever discovered that he never had gout at all. He forgave her,
at last, for having cured his foot too quickly, for the affair gave him
something to talk about for a long time afterward. He never tired of
telling his friends about the trouble he had had.
But many of the feathered folk in Pleasant Valley grew very weary of the
tale before they heard the last of it.
VIII
THE NEW UMBRELLA
Old Mr. Crow was feeling very happy, because he had a new umbrella--the
only umbrella that was owned for miles around. And wherever Mr. Crow
went, the umbrella went too, tucked snugly under his wing.
There was only one thing that could have made Mr. Crow feel any happier;
and that was rain. As soon as it rained he intended to spread the
umbrella over his head and go to call upon all of his friends.