From Useful Birds and their Protection by G. H. Forbush.
Tramp, tramp, came the feet up the stairs to the second hall, with the rhythm of a marching regiment. Then there was a pause and evidently some discussion, for, as Gray Lady went forward and opened the door at the head of the attic stairs, she heard Sarah Barnes’ voice say, “Why, it’s a big Crow and a little one; but how did they come in here? Don’t touch him, Tommy, he’ll bite you. Crows bite like everything when they get mad.”
Then Tommy’s voice said, “The big one’s a Crow, sure enough, but the little one couldn’t be any more’n mice’s little rats. It’s one of those queer new birds that had nests down in the Methodist Church steeple last spring; I went up with Eb Holcomb one day when he was fixing the bell-rope and I saw them, but nobody ’round here knows what they’re called—unless Gray Lady may.”
Looking down, Gray Lady saw the odd pair in question and said to Goldilocks, “Your two pets have managed to get in and are trapped between the top and bottom of the stairs. Whistle for them, dearie, for the children are waiting to come up.”
Goldilocks gave two very good imitations of the quavering call of a Crow, and then, using a little oddly shaped silver whistle that hung about her neck on a ribbon, gave a series of melodious whistles, when, to the surprise and delight of the children below, Crow and Starling (for this was the name of the smaller bird) immediately turned about and went upstairs, the Crow hopping and flopping, for one of its wings was deformed, and the Starling, as soon as it had room enough for a start, flying straight and true. When the children followed, they found the Crow perched on the back of Goldilocks’ chair and the Starling flitting about the open rafters until he found a perch that suited him upon a hook that had once held a hammock, where he seemed quite at home. The Crow, however, was anxious and uneasy when he saw the children trooping up, and flopping from the chair-bar with a sidewise motion, he scuttled across to the stove, under which he disappeared, occasionally peering out with his head on one side like a very inquisitive human being.
“I don’t wonder that you look astonished,” said Gray Lady, “at seeing birds in this house that are apparently captive, but the truth is that they will not go away, and come back through every open window. So, as we have not the heart to drive them away, we let them live here in the playroom and about the barns, where they find plenty to eat, and at any moment they wish to go, freedom is close at hand for the taking.”
“But what made them come to begin with?” asked Dave. “Crows are mostly the scariest things going.”
“Jacob found the Crow up in the cedar woods in May,” said Goldilocks. “All the others were able to fly and take care of themselves, but this one stayed in the low bushes and its parents were feeding it. One morning, when Jacob was up there cutting cedar posts for the gate he made to Birdland, he heard a great commotion; the old Crows and the young ones were cawing and screaming and flying about in distress, while crouching in the bushes, and just ready to spring upon the Crow, was a big half-wild cat. It used to belong to the people up at the lumber camp, but when they went away they left it, and all last winter and spring it has lived by hunting.”
“I know about that cat,” said Tommy. “The Selectmen have offered five dollars’ reward for it, and it kills more chickens, even big roosters, than all the Hawks this side of Bald Hill.”
“After Jacob had driven the cat away,” continued Goldilocks, “he picked up the young Crow to try to find out why it had not flown away like its brothers. At first it was afraid and fought and pecked his fingers, but by and by it let him handle it, and he found that one wing was twisted, so that it was of no use. The point where the long quill feathers grow was turned under, Jake said, just the way it is in a roast chicken, and it must have happened when the bird was little and had no feathers, because those on that point of the wing were stunted and twisted where they had tried to grow after it was hurt. Jake straightened the wing as well as he could, and clipped the feathers on the other one so that he shouldn’t be so lopsided. The wing is stiff and doesn’t work rightly yet, but Jake thinks that after next summer’s moult the feathers may come in better; meanwhile I’ve called him Jim, because that is the usual name for tame crows.