King Cole: A Biography :59
Meg's temper and her stockings were of about the same hue—decidedly black. He led her over acres of land. through a plowed field of soft. black soil. into which she plunged. regardless of her white stockings. Then on through an oat stuhble. where poor Meg fairly danced in agony ; over any number of snake-fences with blackberry hedges on either side. not to speak of the various stone piles he selected as his stopping places. At each attempt to get the thimble from him. the little rascal allowed her to all but close her hand upon it. Never once did he snap it up until the very last moment.
After a while. she, learning something from the tactics of her enemy, changed hers. and tried the plan of knocking him away from the thimble with a long fence-rail; but he invariably got to it first, no matter how quickly she dropped the rail, and made a dash for the thimble. Next she tried the ruse of walking past him with studied unconcern. and returning with a rush. She even went so far as to pretend to go to sleep, her head a yard from the disputed property. and her hand ready for the clutch—but for each and all of her manteuvers he was fully prepared, and it seemed to me. who watched proceedings from a distance, that the victory was to be with the little black Crow. who did look such a tiny creature beside my tall sister of twelve years of age. You will never guess how it ended ! King Cole's manner of surrender was worthy of him. After leading poor exasperated Meg nearly back to the house again. he flew to the branch of a tree. the thimble held in the tip of his beak. and sat there eyeing her as she stood below. impotently threatening and hurling sticks and stones at him. Presently he tilted deliberately forward and dropped the thimble at her feet. sat up very straight. cocked his head on one side and muttered soothingly. saying as plainly as Crow Could: " There. little girl. there's your thimble: I am done with it."
One of the Crow’s favorite tricks. and his funniest. was to drop suddenly into a flock of strange fowls. whenever he came across any in the fields or barn-yards about (our own hens and he were the best of friends) and when, in a fright. they would disperse, he would affect to start and look about him. as much as to say”Dear me! how isit 1 find myself alone?" I have watched him do this many times. and the little by-play was always the same. and most amusing.
The terror of his life were his wild kinsmen. who soon found him out in his adopted home. They cordially hated him. and when they managed to catch him far from home without a protector would attack him savagely. More than once the men working in the fields saved him only just in time from being picked to death. Sometimes as many as four or five wild Crows would pursue him. clamoring loudly. almost to the house door. or to within a few yards of us if we were in the fields. I think. when one considers the
