"Come down out of that, Haw-Haw! Come down!" called Rick, and there was a flittering amid the branches of the tree on which there were still a few leaves. Haw-Haw, whose broken wing had healed, not enough to permit him to fly well, but enough so that he could flutter up into the low branches of trees, came half tumbling down, half soaring and perched himself on Rick's shoulder.
"I didn't know you could whistle!" exclaimed the boy. "I was going to teach you, Haw-Haw, but I guess you must have taught yourself. Whistle again for me!"
But Haw-Haw did not seem to want to do this. He preened his glossy black feathers with his black bill, and made funny little noises down in his throat.
Ruddy, his head on one side, peered up at the crow on Rick's shoulder and the queer, puzzled look was still on the dog's face.
"It's all right, Ruddy! It's all right," said Rick, patting his setter's head. "It was only Haw-Haw whistling for you."
Rick had been so busy having fun and going to school that, after his father had set the crow's broken wing, the boy had almost forgotten about his black bird. But Haw-Haw had grown stronger and he had grown tame—so tame that he would perch on the shoulders of any members of the family and let them feed him. Rick had been talking of teaching the crow to talk and whistle, as he had read could be done. But he kept putting it off, for one reason and another, until he was much surprised by hearing the crow's whistle.
"Did you find who it was trying to call Ruddy?" asked Rick's mother, as he came back in the yard with the crow on his shoulder and the dog leaping around him, barking joyously and excitedly. Ruddy did not altogether like Haw-Haw being so friendly with Rick.
"It was my crow whistling!" said Rick.
"Your crow?" exclaimed Mrs. Dalton, in surprise.
"Yes. He must have been listening to me at different times, until he got so he could whistle just as I do when I call Ruddy. And Haw-Haw certainly sounded natural. He fooled even you; didn't he, Ruddy?"