as high as he could carry it, as if in triumph at his sharp trick.

The flock settled slowly into the pines again with much _hawing_.
There was evidently a question whether the play ought to be allowed or
not. Everybody had something to say about it; and there was no end of
objection. At last it was settled good-naturedly, and they took places
to watch till the new leader should give them opportunity for another
chase.

There was no doubt left in the watcher's mind by this time as to what
the crows were doing. They were just playing a game, like so many
schoolboys, enjoying to the full the long bright hours of the
September afternoon. Did they find the bright object as they crossed
the pasture on the way from Farmer B's corn-field, and the game so
suggest itself? Or was the game first suggested, and the talisman
brought afterwards? Every crow has a secret storehouse, where he hides
every bright thing he finds. Sometimes it is a crevice in the rocks
under moss and ferns; sometimes the splintered end of a broken branch;
sometimes a deserted owl's nest in a hollow tree; often a crotch in a
big pine, covered carefully by brown needles; but wherever it is, it
is full of bright things--glass, and china, and beads, and tin, and an
old spoon, and a silvered buckle--and nobody but the crow himself
knows how to find it. Did some crow fetch his best trinket for the
occasion, or was this a special thing for games, and kept by the flock
where any crow could get it?

These were some of the interesting things that were puzzling the
watcher when he noticed that the hickory was empty. A flash over
against the dark green revealed the leader. There he was, stealing
along in the shadow, trying to reach the goal before they saw him. A