Coquerico, faintly, "oh, kindly Wind, oh, cooling breeze, you make me so dizzy my head reels. Pray let me down that I may rest."
"Let you rest," roared the Wind, "wait and I'll teach you, you selfish wretch."
And with one blast it sent him up so high that as he fell down he stuck on a steeple.
There, if you look, you may see him to this very day, forced at last to help others in this world, a weathervane.
—Spanish folk tale
THE SCARECROW
Once upon a time there was an old black crow, as old as the hills. And once there was a scarecrow, brand new to his business. The scarecrow was made of a corn stalk wearing the farmer's cast-off hat and coat.
The very first day he took up his post in the corn-*field, the old black crow, flying over, laughed at his disguise.
"Caw, caw, caw," she cried,
"I know you, poor old stalk,
Bloodless is your body,
You neither run nor walk."
The scarecrow kept his temper and said nothing, and this looks as if he were clever. For the old crow
