"Aunty, what are you doing?"
"Keep still!" said the Crow.
Her eyes were horrible. They seemed to burn. The Canary had to shut her own eyes for fear she would see the Crow gobbling up the poor little victim.
"Some day she may even eat me," thought the Canary.
Having satisfied her hunger, the Crow grew kinder and kinder. She cleaned her bill, perched comfortably and fell into a sweet slumber. The Canary noticed that the Crow was very greedy and not very particular as to what she ate.
Sometimes she would carry a piece of bread, a bit of decayed meat, or some leavings found in a dump hole. The dump hole the Crow liked best, but the Canary could never understand the pleasure of digging in such places.
In fact, it was hard to blame the Crow. She alone ate in one day food enough for twenty canaries. The Crow had only one care—food. Perched on some roof, she was always on the lookout for food.
When the Crow was too lazy to search for food, she would resort to slyness. If she saw a flock of sparrows tearing at something, she would fly right over to them, pretending she was just passing by, cawing with her whole might, "Caw! Caw! I'm busy! I'm busy!"
She would then swoop down, grab the booty, and that was the end of it.
"But it isn't a bit nice to take food away from others," once remarked the indignant Canary.