When lunch time came, it found Mr. Crow with a hearty appetite. And once
more he felt in his left-hand pocket to see what he might have for his
meal.
He pulled out a squirming field-mouse. Mr. Crow was about to eat him; but
the mouse slipped away and hid in a hollow stump. So Mr. Crow lost him.
Then he went soaring off across the pasture. And when he came home again
he didn't seem hungry at all. Whatever he may have found to eat, it
seemed to satisfy him.
By this time Mr. Crow had quite recovered from the fear that had seized
him when he first discovered his swollen foot. And before he went to
sleep that night he thought he would take the bandage off his foot and
look at it. He had some trouble in removing the bandage. And when he
had succeeded in unwinding it he could hardly believe his eyes. His foot
was its natural size again!
Old Mr. Crow looked at the bandage. And he saw, clinging to it, a mass of
caked mud. He could not understand that.
"Anyhow, I'm cured," he said sadly. He was disappointed, because there
were still a good many of his friends to whom he had not yet shown his
bandaged foot. "I don't consider that Aunt Polly Woodchuck is as good a
doctor as people say," Mr.
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