it is to fo

e reason you s

r the

nearly so easy to pick up a living. Food is quite as scarce for Blacky the Crow in winter as for any of the other little people who neither sleep the winter a

en goes some miles from the thick hemlock-tree in the Green Forest where he spends his nig

iver where Jack Frost never did succeed in making ice. Sometimes things good to eat would be washed up along the

at only in the spring of the year was he likely to find anybody about there. All the rest of the year it was shut up. Every time he passed that way Blacky flew over it. Black

wind blew that open, or if there is som

which he could look all over the little cleari

red. Rather, he began to grow so hungry that he became impatient. "If there is anybody in there he mu

just made up his mind that there was nobody inside that little house when a head a

It certainly is. Now what is he doing way over here