None of the crows knew that it was Fumle-Drumle who had pecked the rag
out of the window; and had they known of this, they would have been very
much astonished. Such a thing as daring to approach a human being's
dwelling, they had never believed of him. He kept the thing to himself
very carefully; and he had his own good reasons for it. Wind-Rush always
treated him well in the daytime, and when the others were around; but
one very dark night, when the comrades sat on the night branch, he was
attacked by a couple of crows and nearly murdered. After that he moved
every night, after dark, from his usual sleeping quarters into the empty
cabin.
Now one afternoon, when the crows had put their nests in order on
crow-ridge, they happened upon a remarkable find. Wind-Rush,
Fumle-Drumle, and a couple of others had flown down into a big hollow in
one corner of the heath. The hollow was nothing but a gravel-pit, but
the crows could not be satisfied with such a simple explanation; they
flew down in it continually, and turned every single sand-grain to get
at the reason why human beings had digged it. While the crows were
pottering around down there, a mass of gravel fell from one side. They
rushed up to it, and had the good fortune to find amongst the fallen
stones and stubble--a large earthen crock, which was locked with a
wooden clasp! Naturally they wanted to know if there was anything in it,
and they tried both to peck holes in the crock, and to bend up the
clasp, but they had no success.
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