"I should always feel like doing right," said Mr. Thompson.
"Try it, and see," croaked the crow.
Mr. Thompson felt himself shrinking, and his black coat was changing to feathers.
No sooner had the change become complete than he felt an irresistible desire to pull up a hill of corn. As soon as he had uprooted one, he was filled with joy and a desire to destroy. He went to work with a will, and in a few minutes had pulled up quite a number.
"I thought that was very wicked," croaked a hoarse voice, with a tone of sarcasm.
Mr. Thompson paused a moment. "It is," he admitted. "But," he added, "it is such fun; and then men shoot us at every possible opportunity. It is no more than fair that we should get even with them."
"You talk like a sensible crow," said his companion. "But here comes a man;" and he uttered a derisive "Caw!" as he flew off, followed by Mr. Thompson.
"Let's go down to the shore," remarked the crow, as they came in sight of Long Island Sound.
Soon they were on the shore of a little creek that came in from the Sound. Mr. Thompson and his companion walked along the edge of the water, when suddenly Mr. Thompson spied a soft crab. He made a quick snatch for it, and caught it. His companion looked on in disdain.
"Humph!" he said, "who wants a crab? I've got a clam."