The Three Bears of Porcupine Ridge

by Jean M. Thompson

The next thing Nicodemus knew he was taken to the barn-yard by the boy, who drove a small stake into the ground and fastened him there securely. But Nicodemus thrashed about so madly that he soon broke the cord which secured him, and then the boy brought a great pair of scissors and clipped off the large wing feathers so he could not fly away; Nicodemus now became subdued and helpless. What a position for the king of Crow Colony. But worse yet was to come to him, for some one told the boy that if you will split the tongue of a crow it will soon learn to speak. Accordingly the tongue of Nicodemus was split, and soon, to the great delight of the boy, Nicodemus began to croak out something which sounded almost like “Hello.”

Secretly, in spite of his humble appearance, Nicodemus was neither tamed nor subdued, and his heart was filled with hate and bitterness toward everybody; especially did he hate the forced companionship of all the tame barn-yard fowls,—most of all that of the great, haughty, strutting red rooster, monarch of the barn-yard, who never lost an opportunity of giving Nicodemus a vicious peck whenever he felt like it. And at feeding time, when Nicodemus ventured near the chickens to share a few kernels of yellow corn, once the haughty red rooster had fallen upon him and spurred him most cruelly with his sharp spurs, so that Nicodemus felt the effects of the thrashing for days and days.

Old Nicodemus was a very humble crow indeed these dark days. He lost all pride in grooming his former glossy, iridescent plumage, and became muddy and draggled. He would sit perched upon an old rain barrel in a corner of the barn-yard and croak and complain dismally to himself, hunching up his shoulders miserably, and uttering a peevish “Caw,” and the new, strange croak which he had acquired, because of his split tongue, until finally he became so dull and uninteresting that the boy lost all interest in him and he was left wholly to himself; and thus it happened that his wings were left unclipped, so that all through the summer the wing feathers grew each day a trifle longer. Ah, Nicodemus’ dull days were soon to be over, for one day, just about the time the first snow flurry fell, he spread forth his great wings and began to circle over the heads of the astonished fowls, cawing triumphantly and stridently; then, with exultant, happy heart, away he flew in the direction of Balsam Swamp.

When he reached his old nest it was empty. Nothing remained of it but a few loose sticks, and these were soon sprinkled over with snow. Oh, how lonely and unhappy was the home-coming of the king of Crow Colony.

Of course Nicodemus knew instinctively that his family had grown up and deserted the nest. Perhaps they had joined the colony for the winter, as was their custom, seeking some close retreat in the dense pines where they herd together for the winter months. He resolved to join the old colony. If he could only go back among his loved ones he would soon be welcomed again and take his rightful place as king of the flock.

All day long he flew heavily about over the swamps and mountains searching for the colony. At last the leaders appeared against the distant sky-line; they had flown over the mountain, and were coming back into the balsams for the night. Straggling and cawing they came, the long procession, and finally joining the last stragglers, Nicodemus flopped heavily along in the rear. And in the darkness of twilight he joined them, huddling close together in the dense green thickets. The flock had not recognized him and they gave him no welcome; evidently he was forgotten. But the next morning they discovered him in their midst, and just as soon as he gave forth his strange, new call they knew him only as a stranger, and one and all the whole colony fell upon him and, with fierce cawings and scoldings, drove him forth from their midst.

Poor, unhappy Nicodemus! Solitary and alone he flew off, deserted by the flock, and probably by his very own family as well. No one had recognized him. The winter which followed was long and cold. At break of day the deposed king would start off alone for food, and when night came, with heavy, tired wings, back he flew to the shelter of the pines in the swamp. There the winds howled and crooned above him, and fierce blizzards sent the snow swirling about his solitary retreat. It is hard for a crow to live alone, for with the colony, where there are sometimes hundreds of crows, they manage to keep warm by huddling closely together for warmth, and so do not freeze to death.

At last spring came, and Nicodemus, glad to be alive now, heard the old colony cawing loudly, and watched the great black band of crows as, greatly excited, they settled in a near-by sycamore to talk over and arrange the business of disbanding.

Then, unable to stand his loneliness longer, with swift, eager flight the old king of the colony joined the flock. In their excitement they did not heed him. But the eyes of the king were alert; nothing escaped them. Soon a young dandy of a crow, accompanied by his mate, spread forth his wings and headed for the stunted balsam tree, the old nesting place of Nicodemus. Then instantly all the old courage of the king came back to him, and with one mighty swoop of his great black wings, with loud, commanding caws, he followed the pair, caught up with them, and drove the presuming young crow away from the balsam. Nicodemus, king of the Crow Colony, thus resumed his place among his kindred as commander of the flock.