"And it struck me," continued Mr. Thompson, not heeding the interruption, "that I might sit in the field and read, and at the same time keep the crows away."
"I s'pose you could, ef you didn't go to sleep," replied 'Lisha, with a sly laugh.
Mr. Thompson sniffed indignantly, and after a little more talk it was decided that he should take his book and sit in the corner of the field. After he had settled himself comfortably, and read several pages, he began to feel drowsy. His book dropped on his knee, and his thoughts turned to the crows.
"I wonder what they pull up the corn for?" he murmured. "They don't seem to eat it."
"'Cause," replied a coarse voice just behind him.
"'Cause why?" inquired Mr. Thompson.
"'Cause we do eat some, and we pull up the rest for fun," replied the voice.
Mr. Thompson turned to look: there was a big crow sitting on the fence gazing at him curiously, his black head was cocked on one side, and his bead-like eyes were full of mischief.
"Don't you know that is very wicked?" said Mr. Thompson, severely.
"Humph!" croaked the crow, contemptuously. "If you was a crow, you'd feel differently."