ere at one time, had, for some reason or other, moved away. The
little cabin was empty, and the ground lay unused.

When the tenants left the cabin they closed the damper, fastened the
window-hooks, and locked the door. But no one had thought of the broken
window-pane which was only stuffed with a rag. After the showers of a
couple of summers, the rag had moulded and shrunk, and, finally, a crow
had succeeded in poking it out.

The ridge on the heather-heath was really not as desolate as one might
think, for it was inhabited by a large crow-folk. Naturally, the crows
did not live there all the year round. They moved to foreign lands in
the winter; in the autumn they travelled from one grain-field to another
all over Goetaland, and picked grain; during the summer, they spread
themselves over the farms in Sonnerbo township, and lived upon eggs and
berries and birdlings; but every spring, when nesting time came, they
came back to the heather-heath.

The one who had poked the rag from the window was a crow-cock named Garm
Whitefeather; but he was never called anything but Fumle or Drumle, or
out and out Fumle-Drumle, because he always acted awkwardly and
stupidly, and wasn't good for anything except to make fun of.
Fumle-Drumle was bigger and stronger than any of the other crows, but
that didn't help him in the least; he was--and remained--a butt for
ridicule. And it didn't profit him, either, that he came from very good
stock. If everything had gone smoothly, he should have been leader for
the whole flock, because this honour had, from time immemorial, belonged
to the oldest Whitefeather. But long before Fumle-Drumle was born, the
power had gone from his family, and was now wielded by a cruel wild
crow, named Wind-Rush.

This transference of power was due to the fact that the crows on
crow-ridge desired to change their manner of living. Possibly there are
many who think that everything in the shape of crow lives in the same
way; but this is not so. There are entire crow-folk who lead honourable
lives--that is to say, they only eat grain, worms, caterpillars, and
dead animals; and there are others who lead a regular bandit's life, who
throw themselves upon baby-hares and small birds, and plunder every
single bird's nest they set eyes on.

The ancient Whitefeathers had been strict and temperate; and as long as
they had led the flock, the crows had been compelled to conduct
themselves in such a way that other birds could