This much to me is very clear:
A thing not understood is queer.
--Blacky the Crow.
Blacky the Crow may be right. Again he may not be. If he is right, it
will account for a lot of the queer people in the world. They are not
understood, and so they are queer. At least, that is what other people
say, and never once think that perhaps they are the queer ones for not
understanding.
But Blacky isn't like those people who are satisfied not to understand
and to think other people and things queer. He does his best to
understand. He waits and watches and uses those sharp eyes of his and
those quick wits of his until at last usually he does understand.
The day of his discovery of Old Mother Nature's signs that the coming
winter would be long, hard and cold, Blacky paid a visit to the Big
River. Long ago he discovered that many things are to be seen on or
beside the Big River, things not to be seen elsewhere. So there are few
clays in which he does not get over there.
As he drew near the Big River, he was very watchful and careful, was
Blacky, for this was the season when hunters with terrible guns were
abroad, and he had discovered that they were likely to be hiding along
the Big River, hoping to shoot Mr. or Mrs. Quack or some of their
relatives. So he was very watchful as he drew near the Big River, for
he had learned that it was dangerous to pass too near a hunter with a
terrible gun. More than once he had been shot at. But he had learned by
these experiences. Oh, yes, Blacky had learned. For one thing, he had
learned to know a gun when he saw it. For another thing, he had learned
just how far away one of these dreadful guns could be and still hurt the
one it was pointed at, and to always keep just a little farther away.
Also he had learned that a man or boy without a terrible gun is quite
harmless, and he had learned that hunters with terrible guns are tricky
and sometimes hide from those they seek to kill, so that in the dreadful
hunting season it is best to look sharply before approaching any place.
On this afternoon, as he drew near the Big River, he saw a man who
seemed to be very busy on the shore of the Big River, at a place where
wild rice and rushes grew for some distance out in the water, for just
there it was shallow far out from the shore. Blacky looked sharply for a
terrible gun. But the man had none with him and therefore was not to be
feared. Blacky boldly drew near until he was able to see what the man
was doing.
Then Blacky's eyes stretched their widest and he almost cawed right out
with surprise. The man was taking yellow corn from a bag, a handful at
a time, and throwing it out in the water. Yes, Sir, that is what he was
doing, scattering nice yellow corn among the rushes and wild rice in the
water!
“That's a queer performance,” muttered Blacky, as he watched. “What is
he throwing perfectly good corn out in the water for? He isn't planting
it, for this isn't the planting season. Besides, it wouldn't grow in the
water, anyway. It is a shame to waste nice corn like that. What is he
doing it for?”
Blacky flew over to a tree some distance away and alighted in the top
of it to watch the queer performance. You know Blacky has very keen eyes
and he can see a long distance. For a while the man continued to scatter
corn and Blacky continued to wonder what he was doing it for. At last
the man went away in a boat. Blacky watched him until he was out of
sight. Then he spread his wings and slowly flew back and forth just
above the rushes and wild rice, at the place where the man had been
scattering the corn. He could see some of the yellow grains on the
bottom. Presently he saw something else. “Ha!” exclaimed Blacky.