"Yes, they do—don't crows talk?" asked Rick of his father, who came out in the yard just then.
"Yes, I have heard them say a few words, and also whistle," said Mr. Dalton. "Not all of them talk as well as do parrots, but you can understand some of the things crows say."
"You have to slit their tongues to make 'em talk," went on Rick. "Chot Benson told me so. He doesn't know I got this crow, but I'll tell him after supper. Maybe he knows how to cut their tongues."
"No, you mustn't cut the crow's tongue," said Mr. Dalton. "It is a cruel superstition to say that slitting a crow's tongue makes it talk. Not all crows can say words, but those that do, will say them just as well with a whole tongue as with one cut down the middle. Leave your crow's tongue alone, Rick, if you are going to keep him."
"Oh, I'm going to keep him!" declared the boy. "I'm going to have him for a pet same as I have Ruddy. But I'm glad I don't have to slit his tongue. Do you think you can fix his broken wing, Daddy?"
"Well, perhaps we can put it in splints so the bones will grow together," answered his father. "But I'm afraid the crow will never fly again. It may be able to flutter about, and it surely can walk, for its legs are all right," said Mr. Dalton, as he took the black bird from Rick. "But its flying days are over."
"Then it won't fly away from me," said the boy. "I'll make a nest for it in the woodshed, and then I'll teach it to talk."
"That may take you a long time," said his father, "and this may be the sort of crow that never says any words. But you can try."
"And now it's time for supper," exclaimed Rick's mother. "It has been waiting long enough, and it's almost dark."
"Ruddy wants his supper, too," said his master.