And to his surprise Mr. Crow haw-hawed right out.
“What’s the joke?” Rusty Wren wanted to know.
“That’s not a bird——” said old Mr. Crow—“or, at least, it’s not a real bird. He’s made of wood. And he lives inside a cuckoo clock.”
“Ah!” Rusty cried. “An alarm clock!”
But old Mr. Crow shook his head.
“No!” he replied. “It’s just an everyday clock. And, instead of striking, it lets this little wooden bird come out and sing.”
Rusty Wren said that he wouldn’t care for a clock like that and that he didn’t see why Farmer Green had brought it home, anyhow.
“Cuckoo clocks amuse the women and children,” Mr. Crow remarked wisely.
“Then you think Farmer Green was not dissatisfied with my singing? You think he would like me to wake him every morning, just as I used to?” Rusty waited eagerly for Mr. Crow’s opinion.
Old Mr. Crow pondered for a while before answering. He reflected that since it was long past corn-planting time, it really made no difference to him whether Farmer Green overslept or not. If the corn had just been put in the ground, he would have liked to have Farmer Green stay in bed all day long.