OLD CAW’S COUNSEL.
When the two chipmunks found themselves inside their house, they
listened in breathless silence, their little hearts beating fast with
fear; but as all was still, and they found they were not pursued,
curiosity began to get the better of them, and they felt a desire to
obtain a glimpse of the dangerous being that had inspired Bobtilla with
such terror.
Noiselessly approaching the opening of their house, Squirrello put out
his head and glanced cautiously around. On the tall tree sat a large
bird, such as the squirrel, who had hitherto lived on the outskirts
of a large town, had never seen. His strong claws grasped tightly
the bough on which he rested, and his large yellow eyes that gleamed
through the foliage looked straight before him. The pointed tufts on
his head and his large hooked beak gave him a vigilant and fierce
expression, and at intervals he blinked his eyes solemnly. It was a
great grandson of Judge Owl, who, many years before, had settled the
dispute between the crow and the water-rat.
Squirrello having made these observations from his door, turned and
addressed his wife,--
“Come, Squirrella, and look at this strange creature. We have certainly
seen nothing like him.”
Squirrella glanced toward a corner of her house, where, on a soft bed
of leaves and moss, lay two young chipmunks fast asleep.
“They are all right,” replied her husband, reassuringly, “old Blinkeye
can’t get in here.”
“How I dread the time when they are old enough to run about by
themselves,” said Squirrella, anxiously. “I almost wish we had remained
where we were.”
“You forget the cats there,” answered her husband. “Evidently old
Blinkeye is the only creature we need fear besides the water-rat, and
owls are dangerous only at night.”
“Then why did the field-mouse seem so alarmed at sight of him?” asked
Squirrella.
“Because she is afraid of everything. Come, my dear, don’t be as
foolish as she is, but take a good look at this remarkable-looking
bird, that you may avoid him in future.”
Thus encouraged, Squirrella took heart and followed her husband to the
door, and after a moment, seeing how silently and quietly the owl sat
on his perch, she became emboldened to join her husband on the top of
the wall, where they both remained, watching the great solemn eyes of
the fierce Blinkeye.
The two chipmunks conversed in low tones, and the owl was evidently not
aware of their presence, for he still looked straight before him in the
same solemn manner.
A laughing and cawing was heard before long, and two noisy young crows
lighted on a tree directly opposite the silent owl.
“How are you, father Blinkeye?” asked one of the crows, familiarly. The
owl turned his head slightly towards the voice, but maintained the same
dignified silence.
“You don’t happen to know what the parrot died of, do you, my friend?”
asked the other crow; but as he received no answer, he continued,--
“Well, he died of talking, and I thought perhaps you might have
symptoms of the same disease.”
The owl continued silent as before, and fixed his solemn yellow eyes on
the impertinent young crows, who after a while became somewhat uneasy
under his steadfast gaze. With a show of indifference they indulged
in personal remarks intended to annoy the silent owl, but to all
their impertinence the owl was apparently unmoved, and at last broke
silence:--
“Let me advise you, my young friends, for you are _very_ young in
experience, to be a little more careful in your selection of a place
to conceal your stolen treasures. I am astonished that such shrewd
young fellows as you consider yourselves should have shown so little
judgment.”
“What do you mean?” asked both together.
“Oh! nothing,” answered the owl, carelessly. “I thought perhaps you
might sometime have occasion to conceal a bone or delicate scrap of
meat your old grandfather had given you as a reward for good behavior,
and I have _heard_ that you were not as careful as you might be in your
selection of hiding-places.”
“So you have been spying, have you?” exclaimed the younger crow,
angrily.
“I?” asked the owl, coolly. “Oh, no, I was merely repeating what I had
heard. Old bones and scraps of meat do not attract me; I prefer _live_
game.” And at the words, the two little chipmunks suddenly darted into
their house, and remained there until the mischievous crows had taken
flight, and all was still once more.
“You see, my young friends,” continued the owl, “that you are better
known than you think you are. Did you ever hear that verse about your
family in ‘The Laws of the Woods?’ I will repeat it to you, that you
may form some idea of the reputation you bear:--
“‘Wherever you are, and wherever you go,
Beware, oh beware, of the saucy crow!
His feathers are black and his beak is long,
And he has a croak instead of a song.
His pleasure it is to hide and to steal;
No creature for him does affection feel;
I pray you avoid him, the mischievous crow,
For there’s no trick that he does not know.’”
“Capital!” exclaimed the two crows, bursting into caws of laughter.
“Give us some more verses from ‘The Laws of the Woods’!”
“I will,” replied the owl, severely, and still gazing fixedly on them,
he repeated in warning notes:--
“‘War and strife, grief and woe,
Follow you where’er you go.
Never more shall you know rest
For weary feet and aching breast,
Till body round and lithe and long
Shall vanquish body thick and strong.
Then shall dawn a day of peace,
And every strife and sorrow cease.’”
“Suppose you tell us what it means?” said the elder crow. “Who is the
‘body round and lithe and long,’ and who the ‘body thick and strong’?”
“You will find out to your sorrow before long,” replied the owl,
solemnly; “but ‘the day of peace’ will dawn for the rest of us.”
“In return for your compliment, I’ll recite for your benefit a verse
that is a little easier to understand,” said the elder crow:--
“There was once an owl who said, ‘I
Really would not hurt a fly;’
And through the long day,
He sat blinking away,
But when the night came, oh my!”
As the crow finished his verse, he and his brother flew off with great
flapping of wings and derisive jeers, cawing out the lines as long as
they were within hearing of the owl.
When they were out of sight, the two crows looked at each other, and
the younger said,--
“How do you suppose he found out about that pig’s ear?”
“I’m sure I don’t know; somebody probably watched us. One thing he said
is true,--he always wants live food himself.”
“I’ll tell you how it is,” replied the younger brother, “Old Rough is
an acquaintance of his, and he is always prying about, and wouldn’t
hesitate to help himself to anything he might find. Yes, we’ll have to
find a new hiding-place.”
“Hush!” said the elder brother, as they came in sight of their home;
“don’t talk so loudly. There’s the old gentleman on the lookout, and
old as he is, he hears quicker than any of us.”
On the top of a tall fir-tree, where the branches grew thickest,
reposed the home of the crow family,--and a most untidy and insecure
structure it was, looking as if the materials had been flung against
the tree and caught there; for mud and twigs, and rags and feathers
appeared to be mixed indiscriminately, and the whole nest looked as
though it might tumble down at any moment.
In spite, however, of the insecure appearance of her home, the
mother-crow was seated comfortably within, and several young crows were
perched on neighboring branches, noisily cawing.
On a tree near by, apart from the others, as if he wished to avoid
their noisy cawing, sat a crow whose appearance indicated that he was
a person of distinction in the crow family, and when the hilarity of
the younger crows grew unusually loud, the mother sitting in the nest
glanced uneasily towards this solitary figure, and sharply enjoined
silence.
For awhile after her admonitions, the voices became lower; but soon,
with the exuberant spirits of youth, the young crows again forgot
themselves, and they all cawed together as excitedly as before.
As the two newcomers appeared, the old crow on the tree by himself,
turning his head sideways, glanced at them out of one eye, but
otherwise bestowed no attention on them.
“Where have you been all day?” asked the mother-crow in a querulous
voice. “Your father has been everywhere to hunt for you, and your
grandfather is much displeased.”
“We were looking for provisions for the family,” replied the elder
brother, winking at the other.
“A likely story!” replied his mother. “You have been idling away your
time in some folly, I know. You never are here when you’re wanted.”
The young crows knew by experience that this was the beginning of a
long lecture, and they remained silent until their mother had ended.
All this time the old crow had not stirred; but when the mother bird
had ceased, he said briefly,--
“Come here, I have something to say to you.”
Their mother’s scoldings the young crows did not mind, for they were
too frequent to make a deep impression, and she told them of so many
faults at once that her reproofs lost their force; but when old Caw
their grandfather spoke, it was always to the point, and left them in
no doubt as to his meaning.
The two young crows at once, therefore, obeyed the summons, and lighted
on a branch opposite the old crow, who for a moment regarded them in
silence. It was no wonder that the countenances of these reckless
young creatures fell beneath the gaze of that shrewd old face.
Old Caw, as he was familiarly called, the leader of the flock, although
having long outlived his generation of crows, had still sufficient
energy of character left to enable him to sustain the position of
counsellor and leader that he had for so many years ably borne. One eye
only remained to him, the other having been pecked out in a quarrel in
his youth; but in that single eye was concentrated all the shrewdness
and ability that distinguished him even among the ablest of his kind.
“Well, young gentlemen,” he began, in the high cracked voice of extreme
old age, “you did well to return when you did. The expedition starts
shortly, for we must have two good hours before sunset.”
The young crows knew that it was not to tell them this that their
grandfather had called them and eyed them so sharply, and they looked
at one another sheepishly. As he continued silent, they turned to leave
him; but he called them back.
“See here, my fine fellows, the next time you steal a pig’s ear from
me, don’t be so clumsy about it. There is a right and wrong way of
doing things, and you can’t be too particular about these little
matters.”
The young crows looked still more confused, as they learned that their
grandfather had discovered their little theft.
“Did you really think old Caw was so stupid as to hide his pig’s ear
where you could find it so easily? No, I assure you he is too old a
head for that. I purposely put it where you would come upon it, for I
wanted to teach you a lesson, and sometime I will show you how to do
such things neatly. Your education has really been neglected. However,
it is time to be off, and here come our friends.”
As he spoke, several crows appeared, flying rapidly towards them. Very
little time was spent in preparations for starting, and when all were
in their places, old Caw placed himself at the head of the little
flock, and with much flapping of wings and discordant cawing, they flew
off in the direction of the woods.
[Illustration: “Many a smaller bird started up in terror from its leafy
retreat, and occasionally a squirrel or rabbit scurried into its hole.”]