"I have a home up in the top of the cedar-tree. My nest is round and firm. It is woven of sticks and grasses and lined with wool which I myself pick from the sheep's back.
"We reline the old nest and repair it beautifully every housecleaning time.
"My babies are good children, but they do not in fact look much like me. Perhaps you might think them better looking than their parents. They are black and white.
"Their mother says that the raven babies will outgrow the white feathers soon. She declares that she and I had once as many white feathers as our babies. It seems hard to believe, but perhaps she is right.
"At any rate, they are my children and I do the best I can for them. To me they are very dear, but I fear they will go through life as unloved as I! Caw! Caw! Caw!"
The chicken-hawk ruffled his brown feathers carelessly. He drew in his breath, making a whistling noise which to Phyllis, hiding so quietly below, sounded quite like escaping steam.
"People do not like me either," said the hawk, shrugging his shoulders. "But for all that I shall not sit and mourn.
"I know that my feathers are handsome. I know that I am a good husband and father. I know that I can sail about in the air as gracefully as any bird in the world.
"I sometimes eat insects, but I wonder, Mr. Raven, at your fondness for corn and grain. You should try some of these small birds which are flying about."
"I fear—" began the raven.