THE YOUNG CROWS’ TRICK.
“We shall have some fun with Johnny the basso,” said the younger crow,
as he stopped to gobble up several fat crickets that had collected on
a piece of decaying fruit that lay by the roadside.
“An’ is it that yees would be afther taking the food from the mouths of
a poor widder an’ her childer? Indade, an’ it’s a long time since the
poor craturs have tasted the loike of these,” said a voice from behind;
and suddenly turning, the crows beheld a large fat toad, who watched
with indignation their lunch off the fat crickets.
“Who are you, pray?” asked the elder crow, “and why haven’t we as much
right to eat these crickets as you?”
“It’s the Widow O’Warty I am, wid rispict to yees,” replied the
toad, with dignity; “an’ if it’s the two foine wings of yees meself
possissed, it’s not craping around I’d be, to take the food from poor
widders an’ childer.”
“How did we know you wanted these crickets?” asked the younger crow.
“You are welcome to them for all we care. We prefer our food well
seasoned.”
The Widow O’Warty became pacified under this partial concession, and
resumed the plausible manner for which she was noted.
“It’s me custom,” she explained, “to sthroll out afther the light is
quinched, in s’arch of a thrifle to ate. There do bees foine crickets
about here, an’ that’s the troot av it.”
The elder crow whispered to his brother, “Let’s pass her off on Johnny
as the brown frog he’s lost.”
“How can we, this great fat toad?” replied the other brother, in the
same low tone.
“In the dark, you goose, he wouldn’t know the difference, and we’d
hide, and have lots of fun.”
The younger crow cawed approval, the widow meanwhile eying them
shrewdly, half suspecting that she herself was the subject of their
whispered conversation.
“See here, Widow,” began the elder crow, “you know Johnny the basso,
don’t you?”
“Is it the swate singer down by the bog ye mane?” asked the widow.
“Yes, I see you know him.”
“It’s the foine deep v’ice he possisses,” replied the widow; “an’ it’s
many a night meself has listened to the swate sounds.”
“He’s mashed on you, Widow,” said the elder crow; “he’s about as far
gone as I ever saw any one.”
“Be off wid yer nonsinse!” exclaimed the widow, not displeased at the
news. “It’s fooling yees are.”
“Upon my honor, Widow,” replied the elder crow, seriously; and
addressing his brother he asked, “Didn’t we hear him singing about her
beautiful brown skin and her fine yellow eyes?”
“That we did,” answered the younger crow, promptly; “and, my eyes!
didn’t he howl, though, when he talked about her?”
“I’ll not bel’ave yees,” said the widow. “It’s making game of meself
yees are.”
“Not a bit of it, Widow,” asserted the elder crow, earnestly. “True as
we’re sitting here, we heard him singing about his sweetheart, who had
a brown skin and yellow eyes.”
“An’ did he say ’twas the Widow O’Warty he was after m’aning?” asked
the widow.
“He didn’t exactly mention the name,” replied the younger crow,
evasively, “but he described you so correctly that he couldn’t have
meant anybody else. We told him we’d help him all we could.”
“The Widow O’Warty is me name, an’ me abode is op_po_site us; an’ if
he’s the gintilman I take him for, he will presint himself an’ declare
his intintions,” said the widow, loftily.
“Then you’ll not be hard on him, will you, Widow?” asked the elder crow.
“Whin he has stated his intintions, it’s meself that will consider his
proposals,” replied the widow, majestically.
“Then we’ll ease his mind by telling him you will allow him to call,”
replied the younger crow, as he and his brother flew off. When they
were out of sight and hearing, they gave vent to the merriment they had
been obliged to conceal from the watchful eyes of the widow, and their
loud caws resounded through the wood.
Twilight was now approaching rapidly, and the two crows flew home as
fast as their wings could carry them.
Early the next morning, the brother crows awoke, and were soon on
their way to the dwelling of Johnny the basso. They found him sitting
pensively on the border of the stream that flowed by his door, and
abstractedly snapping at stray flies and bugs that came within reach
of his long elastic tongue. Even these savory morsels were swallowed
without any apparent enjoyment, but with a subdued and mournful
countenance, as if he were performing some solemn rite.
“How are you this morning, Johnny?” called out his two visitors, as
they seated themselves on a low bush that grew near by.
“I am miser-r-rable, my friends,” replied the bull-frog, sadly, his
large eyes swimming in tears. “I am not able to sleep. I sink on zee
leetle brown frog. I weep, ah! how I weep for my sweetheart!”
“What should you say, Johnny, if we were to tell you we had found zee
leetle brown frog?” asked the elder crow.
“What should I say?” exclaimed the bull-frog, with a sudden change of
manner. “I should say zat it is incredible, messieurs,--zat it is
impossible zat you should find zee leetle brown frog in so short a
time.”
“That’s just what we have done, Johnny.”
“Where is she?” exclaimed the singer, enthusiastically. “I fly to her,
_mon ange_, _mon ange_!”
“Don’t be in too great a hurry, Johnny,” said the crow, cautiously.
“You mustn’t take her by surprise. Wait till night comes, and then you
can go and serenade her.”
“It is impossible to wait until zee night come,” replied the basso,
excitedly; “now, zis minute, I fly to see zee leetle brown frog. But
zee tenor? I forget zee miser-r-rable tenor who have stolen her from
me. Where, I demand, is zis tenor?”
“We haven’t found him yet,” answered the elder crow, “but we will, in
time. He is probably not far off. You remember what the owl said,--
“‘Tirra, rirra, high and shrill,
Is heard throughout the meadow still.’
He must still be in the meadow, you see.”
“I go to fight wiz zat tenor!” exclaimed the bull-frog, furiously. “I
will cr-r-rush zat tenor! But you have not say where is zee leetle
brown frog.”
“You see that small scrub-oak over in the field?” asked the elder crow,
nodding his head in the direction of a small oak that grew by a stone
wall. “Well, she lives in a hole in that wall. You will find her easily
enough.”
“I sank you, messieurs, for your kindness,” said the basso, in his most
gracious manner. “Permit me to make my adieu zat I may compose a song,
zat zee leetle brown frog sall find zat my voice is so fine as before.”
“Good-by,” called out the crows, as they flew away, “and good luck to
you.” They looked back as long as they were in sight, and saw that the
basso sat motionless before his door, gazing silently into the depths
of the stream.
The mischievous crows waited with impatience for the coming of night.
It was not their habit to be out after sundown, but so eager were they
to witness the result of their practical joke, that they resolved to
pass the night in the neighborhood of the Widow O’Warty’s abode, that
they might see and hear what would happen. Accordingly, late in the
afternoon they set out, and reached their destination soon after the
sun had set.
A large maple-tree hung its branches over the wall near by, and on one
of these branches the young crows perched, and sitting motionless, with
their heads sunk between their shoulders, they awaited the development
of their plan.
The eavesdroppers dared not converse, for fear of detection, and very
hard it was for them to remain silent for so long a time, it being
their habit to caw incessantly. Twilight soon appeared, and settled
into darkness, and after what seemed to the listeners a long time, the
moon rose over the tops of the forest trees, and gradually sailed into
the sky.
This was a great relief to the young mischief-loving crows, for now
they began to discern objects, and they felt sure that the beautiful
moonlight would tempt the basso to steal forth to his trysting-place.
As the rays of the moon lighted up the wall under the tree on which the
crows sat, they cautiously stretched forth their mischievous little
black heads. At the door of her dwelling, in the shadow thrown by the
scrub-oak, they discovered the matronly form of the Widow O’Warty, her
prominent eyes shining in the moonlight.
Exchanging glances of suppressed merriment, the two crows, barely
succeeding in smothering their laughter, again allowed their heads to
sink between their shoulders, and resumed their former solemn attitude.
They had not much longer to wait, for soon their shrewd eyes descried
a dark form hopping through the grass, and rapidly approaching the
scrub-oak.
When within a few feet of the widow’s door, the new-comer stopped,
and after a few ineffectual attempts to conquer his emotion, sang the
following verses, in a voice that at first trembled perceptibly, but
gradually increased in strength, until the full tones of his deep bass
resounded through the still evening air.
“The moon is on the bog,
The dew is on the lea;
The voice of every frog
Is calling, love, to me.
The noisy, gathering throng
Is calling on my name;
It clamors for a song
From singer of great fame.
A-hung!
“But the applause I hear
Is nothing now to me;
I’d give it all, my dear,
For one sweet croak from thee.
All frogs, from far and wide,
They linger ’round the bog,
They pine to be the bride
Of the bull-basso-frog!
A-hung!
“In dreams thy form I spy,
And in my fond arms take;
But all those visions fly
When in the morn I wake.
Then pray no longer hide,
But let me hear thy voice;
Come to me, lovely bride,
And bid my heart rejoice.
A-hung!”
The full deep tones of the last “a-hung” had scarcely died away on the
summer air, when the Widow O’Warty, who had, during the song, moved
restlessly about, first on one foot and then on the other, suddenly
gave vent to her emotions by hopping up to the singer and exclaiming in
her shrill croak,--
“Faith, an’ it’s meself that will put an ind to your suffering, me poor
cratur!”
[Illustration: “Before the crows could reply, old Rough, who had
listened with great satisfaction to the conversation, and had by
degrees crept unperceived to the tree, hastened to reply.”]