“Oh—I thought I told you,” Mr. Crow said. “Why—they’re in Farmer Green’s attic. His boy put them up there to dry. I saw them through the window, this very day.”
Frisky Squirrel was disappointed.
“I mustn’t go to Farmer Green’s house,” he said.
“Pooh! Why not?” asked Mr. Crow.
“It isn’t safe. I went there once to get some cake, and I nearly lost my life in the kitchen.”
“Ah! But this is different,” Mr. Crow explained. “You don’t have to go into the kitchen at all. All you have to do is to climb that big tree close by the house. And you can hop right through the attic window. There’s nobody upstairs in the daytime. In fact, I should call it one of the safest places to go that I know of.”
When Mr. Crow said that, Frisky believed him. Mr. Crow was so old, and so wise, and so solemn, that Frisky thought that anything he said must be true.
“I’m going past Farmer Green’s house right now,” Mr. Crow told Frisky. “I have a little matter to attend to over in the cornfield. And if you want to come along with me I don’t mind stopping to show you where the butternuts are. But of course if you’re afraid—” Mr. Crow stopped to cough. He buttoned his coat closer around his throat. And then he looked sideways at Frisky Squirrel.
“Afraid!” Frisky exclaimed. “I’m not afraid at all.”
“Good!” said Mr. Crow. “Now, then, young fellow! You skip along over to Farmer Green’s and I’ll be waiting for you down the road a bit.”