Shall I ever forget it, I wonder—those stately marchers convoying their dead? Each one of the seven Birds was drawing a large burdock leaf, on which lay the remains of his dead friend. When they reached the trench, the bodies were all laid in, in an orderly row, covered with burdock leaves and then with earth.
The simple ceremony over, they dispersed, silently and solemnly, but it set me to thinking and wondering if, after all, man had any right to kill the lower animals for any reason whatsoever. I was brought, also, to a new comprehension of the law of compensation. I had lost a pair of spectacles, and, in return, I had speedily witnessed another spectacle which was indeed wonderful and which set me upon a lofty height, far above my fellow-observers.
It was a day or two before Jim came back to me. He had a strand of black yarn tied around his left leg which he would not suffer me to touch, and which, at the end of the thirtieth day, he removed of his own accord. For a week or more he was sad, then he gradually chirked up and began to act more like himself. He ate Thrushes’ eggs, tweaked wool off the backs of the farmers’ Sheep, and stole countless small articles out of my cabin.
I came upon his hoard one day in a hollow tree which had been struck by lightning and broken off about eight feet above the ground. He had pebbles, clam shells, strings, my diamond scarf-pin, a bit of the mica from the front door of my stove, two pieces of broken glass, a square of blue glass I had brought to observe an eclipse with, a blue-bottle Fly, a piece of resin, some bits of bright coloured wool, the handle of a china cup, a cordial glass, a choice collection of white Rabbit fur, which he was evidently saving for his nest, and, vanity of vanities! a triangular piece of broken looking-glass, which was carefully laid across the top of the collection. It was the sunlight playing upon this which led me to the spot. I took out my diamond pin and the cordial glass, leaving the other things undisturbed, but the next time I investigated, there was nothing there. He had moved his treasures to some safer place.
Jim Crow had peculiar notions about his eating, being especially fond of ’possum, sweet potatoes, watermelon, fried Chicken, corn bread, corn fritters, and molasses. Seeing that his tastes ran that way, I baked some Johnny-cake on purpose for him. He pecked at it politely, but truth compels me to record the fact that it was very hard—almost too difficult for solution.
At length he took a large piece in his bill, having chiselled it away from the main formation, and flew away slowly. He could not go fast, for the bread was not light, save in colour. Wondering, and quickening my footsteps to a run, I followed him to the river. He selected a place where the current was swift, hovered over it a moment, then dropped the bread squarely in.
I was hurt—I do not deny it, but later developments showed me that I had no reason for it and that Jim had sufficient cause for his action. Keeping his eye on the bread, which, to my surprise, floated, Jim flew down stream, cawing loudly. With nice calculation, as it afterward proved, he sat down on the bank at exactly the right place and waited.
In a few minutes, the bread came ashore, soft and palatable. Jim ate it with great relish, then, seeing me peering at him through the shrubbery, he distinctly laughed, and flew back home again. When I got there, he had soaked the rest of the bread in a pan of milk which I had left in an exposed position, and was finishing up with molasses.
He did a great many things which at first puzzled me, but which I afterward understood. I had taken down his perch, which was merely a branch nailed across one corner of the cabin, thinking to get a fresh one the next time I went out. Days passed, and I forgot it, but Jim called my attention to it in rather a curious way.
I had been fishing one afternoon, returning about five o’clock with a fine string of Fish which I intended to cook for supper. Jim lit on one of them and refused to budge. I picked him up and he pecked my hand so severely that I was glad to put him down. He let me take the other Fish without protest, but camped on this one until bedtime, cawing loudly at intervals of three minutes or less. When at last he flew in to take his accustomed place on my pillow, I picked up the Fish to see if I could solve the mystery, and, in an instant, my quick, active mind began to work. The Fish was a Perch—the only one I had caught—and Jim was doing his best, in his poor weak way, to remind me of my shameful neglect.