The Tale of Old Mr. Crow

by Arthur Scott Bailey

"It's certainly not solid," Mr. Frog agreed pleasantly. No matter what happened, he never lost his temper.

But Mr. Crow was different. He was angry.

"You've got me into a pretty fix!" said he. "And now you must get me out of it."

"I suppose you want more buttons," Mr. Prog observed. "I noticed as you came in that you had lost every one."

"No!" Mr. Crow told him. "What I want is to get out of this coat. I've decided to spend the winter in the South, after all. And here you've been and gone and sewed the coat on me, and left me no way at all to slip out of it."

"I beg your pardon," the tailor replied politely. "Pardon me—but I think you are mistaken. I left four openings through which anyone could crawl out."

Old Mr. Crow looked puzzled.

"I should like to know where they are," he said.

"The neck, the skirts, and the two sleeves!" Mr. Frog told him.

At that Mr. Crow looked at him severely.