But he had no chance to scratch up any corn that day.
The next day, however, the men had moved further down the field. Mr. Crow
had been waiting for that. He flew to the edge of the ploughed ground,
which they had planted the afternoon before, and dug up a kernel of corn.
He didn't stop to look at it. He knew it was corn--just by the feeling of
it. And it was inside his mouth in a twinkling.
And in another twinkling it was outside again--for Mr. Crow did not like
the taste at all.
"That's a bad one!" he remarked. And then he tried another kernel--and
another--and another. But they were all like the first one.
Thereupon, Mr. Crow paused and looked at the corn. And he saw at once
that there was something wrong. The kernels were gray, instead of a
golden yellow. He pecked at one of them and found that the gray coating
hid something black and sticky.
That was tar, though Mr. Crow did not know it. And the gray covering was
wood-ashes, in which Farmer Green had rolled the corn after dipping it in
tar. The tar made the corn taste bad. And the wood-ashes kept it from
sticking to one's fingers.
"This is a great disappointment," said Mr. Crow very solemnly.
Pages:
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26