"Because—" said the Muley Cow—"because the corn from the silo isn't sweet. It's sour, Mr. Crow. And you wouldn't care for it at all."
The old gentleman looked surprised.
"How sour is it?" he inquired.
"I'd hate to say," the Muley Cow replied.
"I insist on your telling me," he croaked. "I insist; for I've a right to know."
"Well," said the Muley Cow, "the corn from the silo is not quite as sour as your temper, Mr. Crow. And that's all I can say."
That seemed to be enough for him. He asked no more questions, but flew off in a terrible rage. And he told all his friends that it was a shame, the way Farmer Green ruined the corn by putting it in the silo. "It turns sour," he explained. "And Farmer Green has to feed it to the cows, because nobody else will eat it."
All the crows in Pleasant Valley agreed that it was a pity to spoil good corn like that. They even had a meeting—a crow caucus—in the pine woods, they were so upset.
"What can we do about it?" they asked one another.
Nobody could supply an answer.