"I have heard a great many stories which Mr. Crow has told; but never
one about him," your Aunt Amy interrupted. "If he tried to deceive the
other birds, I surely would like to know about it."
"Well, he did," Mrs. Mouser Cat said emphatically, sitting bolt upright;
"but of course he doesn't like to have the story told, so I had rather
you wouldn't let him know I mentioned it.
"I don't know how he happened to get it into his head to do such a
thing, for, as a rule, he spends the most of his time over in the big
tree telling stories or making poetry; but he grew foolish once, and
whenever anybody came where he was, he said he had strange growing
feathers, and the doctor believed he was turning into a peacock.
"Of course that made a good deal of excitement around here, among all of
us, for it would be a strange thing for a crow to change in that way,
and he had twice as many visitors as he ever had before, all wanting to
know about the new feathers.
"Well, of course he couldn't keep saying that they were coming, and not
show any signs of them, so one day he said he felt terribly sick and
guessed he should go into the hospital. Then we didn't see anything of
him for most a week, until little Redder Squirrel came around and said
Mr. Crow was all right; that he had as many as six peacock feathers
growing right out of his tail.
"Well, now, you can believe we were astonished, and more excited over it
than we had been since young Mr. Thomas Cat painted the canary yellow.
Of course we asked Redder Squirrel where we could see him, and he said
Mr. Crow had agreed to come out on the hill, just under the tree, that
afternoon.
"If we animals around here were anxious to see him, you can guess that
the peacocks were just about wild, and when the time came for Mr. Crow
to show himself, all the peacocks for as many as five miles around were
gathered under the big tree. Mr. Crow didn't know anything about their
coming, until he marched right out in the midst of them.
[Illustration: Mr. Crow showing his new feathers to the peacocks.]
"Now Mr. Crow is really a wise bird, and how it happened that he was so
foolish as to do what he did, beats me. Anybody with half an eye could
see that he had simply stuck these feathers in his tail, and was trying
to make us believe they had grown there. If he had stayed on the tree
where we couldn't get very near him, there might have been some chance
of deceiving us; but there he was right down where we could put our paws
on him if we wanted to. And the peacocks! Angry? Oh me, oh my, don't say
a word!
"One big one reached over with his beak, and pulled a feather from Mr.
Crow's tail.
"'The next time you set yourself up for one of us, it would be a good
idea to tie the feathers in, else they may drop out, as this one has,'
the peacock said, and I expected to see Mr. Crow almost faint away with
shame. But bless you, he never thought of doing anything of that kind.
He took the feather as bold as a lion, looked at the end of it, and then
he said, careless-like:
"'Well, I declare! I guess I must be moulting,' and with that, off he
flew. We didn't see him again for as much as two weeks, and then he
agreed not to write any poetry about us if we wouldn't tell the story of
the feathers; but young Mr. Thomas Cat couldn't hold in, and reported it
far and near, till Mr. Crow paid him back in good shape."