“Great news,” he chirped; “but what a fine place this is for the birds! Almost as good as having the whole street. It is lovely to see them out.”
“You would not like it,” I said, “nor would I; but they do.”
“Like it,” he said, with a shudder, “I should go wild if I were confined like this; but to canaries it must seem enormous. See how excitedly they are flying about.”
“Tell me about Great King Crow,” I said.
Chummy smiled. “I found him sitting on a big pine tree. He had been holding court, but
it was over. Down below him on the ground was a dead young crow.”
“Had he killed it?” I asked, in a shocked voice.
“Oh, no, but he had ordered it killed.”
“What had it done?”
“Would not do sentry go.”