ter a little
excursion. He was traveling fast, for he felt, amidst the short stubble,
as if all the world were watching him. And he kept a sharp eye cocked
upwards at the sky, lest Henry Hawk should surprise him. Besides, he had
heard the _boom_ of a bittern that morning. And the day before he had
seen a butcher-bird skimming low over the meadow.

Those two, he knew, were every bit as dangerous as Henry Hawk.

You see, Master Meadow Mouse had learned to expect birds to descend upon
him from the air. It had never occurred to him that a bird would lurk on
the ground, in wait for him. So he had a sudden fright, almost at his
doorway, when he ran plump upon a big black person standing behind a
knoll.

[Illustration: Master Meadow Mouse ran plump into old Mr. Crow]

It was old Mr. Crow. And Master Meadow Mouse thought he had an odd
glitter in his snapping eyes.

"I--I haven't been taking any corn," Master Meadow Mouse stammered.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

7

Nothing but Air

OLD Mr. Crow didn't say a single word when Master Meadow Mouse met him
face to face in the meadow. But a wicked glitter in Mr. Crow's eyes
warned Master Meadow Mouse that there was trouble ahead for him.

If the hole leading to his home hadn't been close at hand there's no
telling what would have happened to him. Anyhow, just as Mr. Crow lunged
at him, with a wild flapping of his broad wings, Master Meadow Mouse
slipped to one side and whisked through his doorway.

Old Mr. Crow coughed hoarsely.

"What's your hurry?" he cried. "I've been waiting around here for you
for a long while. Can't you spend a few moments of your valuable time
with me!"

Now, it was true that the old gentleman had been lingering in the
neighborhood. The corn wasn't quite ripe enough to suit him. So he had
decided to go a-mousing that morning.

His way of hunting, however, was not like that of other birds. Mr. Crow
chose to do his hunting afoot. He was too wise to waste any effort
looking for mice when the grass was high. But after haying he had often
gone a-mousing in years past. And he had found the sport to be quite
worth while. Stalking about the close cropped meadow he had surprised
many distant cousins of Master Meadow Mouse who never returned home to
tell the story of their meetings with the black scamp. Maybe Mr. Crow
was getting slow in his old age. He had never come so near to catching a
Meadow Mouse before, only to be disappointed. It wa