One day when the grass had been cut from the meadow before the house, and I had encamped under the shade of a big maple to see how the kingbirds were coming on in nesting, I noticed a young crow walking in the hot stubble, trying to find something to eat. He wandered about looking in vain to see something attractive. A robin who was also engaged in a food-hunt came and "took his measure," looking sharply at him as if to decide whether it was his duty to go for him. He plainly recognized the youthfulness of the intruder, for after a moment's study he passed on, attending to his own business, while the young crow stared at him in open-mouthed curiosity. At last the crow baby picked up an object--I could not tell what--which hung from his beak while he balanced the probabilities of its being good, aiding his deliberations by a gentle lift of the wings which looked like a shrug of the shoulders. He decided to risk it, and swallowed, but instantly choked it up, and for some time shook his head as if to get rid of even the memory of it. When, a few minutes after this disastrous experience, he heard another baby utter the cries that indicate being fed, it seemed to suggest to him an easier way of getting satisfaction out of life. He spread his wings, flew to a tree and began to call. To be a crow mamma is no sinecure. My heart went out to the poor souls who must be torn between anxiety for their dear "cantankerous" offspring, and fear of their deadly enemy, man. I watched with deep interest their method of training. One day I saw a baby get an object lesson in his proper attitude toward mankind, in this way. An old and a young crow were nearer the house than usual, and I walked down toward the fence to see why. The instant my head appeared, the elder flew with terrific outcry, for which of course I did not blame the poor creature, since mankind has proved itself her bitterest foe. The infant was nearly frightened to death, and followed as quickly as his awkward wings would carry him. I do not like to figure as "Rawhead and bloody-bones" in the nursery of even a crow baby, so I tried several times to redeem the bad name of my race. But to no avail; that subtle mamma had acquired her wisdom by experience, and she knew me as one of a species quite capable of murdering an innocent crow baby. I was interested to see the young family in the pasture taking lessons in following, or flying in a flock. There was great excitement and calling, and all flew, excepting one, who stood quietly on a big stone by himself. They simply circled around and alighted again, so it plainly was only an exercise. But the baby who did not learn the lesson and follow, was punished by one of the grown-ups, who flew directly against him on the return, and knocked him off his perch; the hint was taken, and the next time they flew no one stayed behind.