m, by the way, I never could distinguish, and when the crows again
gathered together he was their acknowledged chief.

The reassembling takes place about the end of June--the young crows with
their bob-tails, soft wings, and falsetto voices are brought by their
parents, whom they nearly equal in size, and introduced to society at
the old pine woods, a woods that is at once their fortress and college.
Here they find security in numbers and in lofty yet sheltered perches,
and here they begin their schooling and are taught all the secrets of
success in crow life, and in crow life the least failure does not simply
mean begin again. It means death.

The first week or two after their arrival is spent by the young ones in
getting acquainted, for each crow must know personally all the others in
the band. Their parents meanwhile have time to rest a little after the
work of raising them, for now the youngsters are able to feed themselves
and roost on a branch in a row, just like big folks.

In a week or two the moulting season comes. At this time the old crows
are usually irritable and nervous, but it does not stop them from
beginning to drill the youngsters, who, of course, do not much enjoy the
punishment and nagging they get so soon after they have been mamma's own
darlings. But it is all for their good, as the old lady said when she
skinned the eels, and old Silverspot is an excellent teacher. Sometimes
he seems to make a speech to them. What he says I cannot guess, but
judging by the way they receive it, it must be extremely witty. Each
morning there is a company drill, for the young ones naturally drop into
two or three squads according to their age and strength. The rest of the
day they forage with their parents.

When at length September comes we find a great change. The rabble of
silly little crows have begun to learn sense. The delicate blue iris of
their eyes, the sign of a fool-crow, has given place to the dark brown
eye of the old stager. They know their drill now and have learned sentry
duty. They have been taught guns and traps and taken a special course in
wireworms and green-corn. They know that a fat old farmer's wife is much
less dangerous, though so much larger, than her fifteen-year-old son,
and they can tell the boy from his sister. They know that an umbrella is
not a gun, and they can count up to six, which is fair for young crows,
though Silverspot can go up nearly to thirty. They know the smell of
gunp