"What do you mean?" he asked.
"A newspaper—" said Brownie Beaver—"a newspaper is always left on, a person's doorstep. I've talked with a good many people and not one of them ever heard of a paper being left on the roof."
Mr. Crow's face seemed to grow blacker than ever, he was so angry.
"How can anybody leave a newspaper on your doorstep, when the step's under water?" he growled.
Brownie Beaver did not answer that question, for he had something else to say to Mr. Crow.
"I've talked with a good many people," he said once more, "and not one of them ever heard of such rudeness as shouting down a person's chimney. If there was anybody asleep in the house, it would certainly wake him; and if a person had a fire in his house, shouting down the chimney might put it out."
Mr. Crow looked rather foolish.
"I'll try to think of some way of leaving your newspaper that will suit us both," he said. Then he hemmed and began to tell Brownie the week's news.
"On Sunday," said Mr. Crow, "there was a freshet."
"I knew that before you did," said Brownie Beaver.