“You might consult a crow,” said the kingfisher. “They are the most highly developed of all birds, and are nearest to man. There is one who lives in a wood a mile or two higher up. You can mention my name if you like.” “Thank you very much,” said Kelpie; “but would you be so very kind as to tell me what is the matter with me?” The kingfisher sat still for another moment as if in deep reflection; then he made a dart downwards into the water, dived, brought up a fish, and glided with it in his beak round a turn of the stream and disappeared. Kelpie went at once in search of the crow. She felt that whatever came of it, she must find out what was wrong with her. After a long search she found the crow sitting on the dead branch of a hollow old oak-tree. The bones of a young rabbit, which he had been dissecting, doubtless with a scientific object, lay on the ground below. Kelpie felt very frightened when she looked at this huge black bird, with his enormous black bill, curved into a sharp hook at the end. But there was no help for it; she felt she must go through with it. As she approached, he gave a low hoarse croak. “What do you want here?” he said. “The kingfisher recommended you, sir,” said Kelpie, “as a--” “The kingfisher _recommended me_, did he?” said the crow. “The impudence of these small practitioners! But never mind the kingfisher: pray go on, my time is limited.” “I have been greatly troubled,” said the trembling Kelpie, “with a desire to find out--” “I see,” said the crow decisively. “Yours is a very simple case. What did the kingfisher say about it?” “He said I was to have change of scene, and cold water, and--” “Exactly,” said the crow. “He’s quite wrong. You would certainly have died if you hadn’t come to me. You are suffering from a _tumor inquisitivus esuriens_ of a very virulent kind. I can take it out for you.” And he began to sharpen his beak on the bough. “Is it a very--a very dangerous operation?” asked Kelpie. “One and a half per cent survive it,” said the crow. “I think I would rather not have it done,” said Kelpie. “Very well,” said the crow; “but you won’t live through the winter. And if you don’t make haste and go,” he added fiercely, “I’ll do it whether you like it or not!” Kelpie flew away as fast as she could, and never stopped till she was a good mile away, and she left that part of the country the very same day. She resolved to ask no more questions, but to pass the rest of her life as well as she could, and die contentedly in the winter. As for foreign travel, that was plainly no good now; so she thought she might as well return to the pleasant place where she had been brought up, try and find some of her relations, and get a little help and comfort before she died.