VI The Crow and the Scarecrow
When corn was sprouting, “Crows and Scarecrows” was announced as a topic, and one Irish lad, giving rein to his imagination, wrote:—
THE CROW AND THE SCARECROW
“Having a story to write concerning a crow, I decided to go to the zoological gardens and seek an interview with one of the species. Accordingly I went, and after passing numerous cages containing all kinds of animals, I arrived at the bird cages. Here in one cage all by himself I met Mr. Crow. He was a big bird with coal-black feathers that glistened in the sunlight.
“I made a bow, explained my errand and asked for a story. He cocked his head to one side, looked steadily for a few seconds and then actually winked at me. ‘Well, young man,’ he said in a throaty voice, ‘you have certainly come to the right place. But as it is near my lunch time I must be brief.
“‘In the first place, I was the leader of as wild and mischievous a band of crows as you ever heard tell of. There was one particular farm in our territory we loved to visit. The owner’s name was Silas Whimple and he was the grouchiest, most miserly man in the county. He lived alone and what part of the ground that was tilled, he did it himself. As much to tease as to eat, we would pay him an occasional flying visit, digging up his newly planted seeds, nibbling at the young green shoots, or, later on, scratching up his potatoes. All his shouting and screaming did not scare us a bit. One day one of my companions came winging with the news that Silas had a farm hand. I laughed and said, “If there is another man on the farm then Silas Whimple must be dead.” Off we flew to investigate. Sure enough, out in a patch of potatoes was a man. Watching him quite a while, I saw he did not move or make a noise as Silas would. He just stood still. I came down to take a closer look, when who should come to the doorway but Silas himself. He was laughing and shouting, “Now I have something to keep you away. The scarecrow shall keep you from bothering me any more.” He laughed and laughed, but I watched my chance and flew behind this being and scratched off his cap. Then the story was out. It was only a straw man. I went back to my companions and explained, and before evening we had picked the scarecrow to pieces. Next day I was unfortunate enough to put my foot in a wire trap and then they sent me up here for life.’
“At this moment his keeper came up with something to eat, so I bade him good-bye and left.”
English, in these classes, is so alive with interest that the children write with ardor and read eagerly the literature which, improperly handled, they learn so soon to despise.
The time-honored studies of the old curriculum may be charged with interest if they are linked to life. The most irksome task has its pleasant aspects. Even the three R’s may be translated into current thought.