He
dropped from the scarecrow's trouser leg and scurried off to his hole
beneath the toolhouse. The Boy, his face a mixture of amusement and
concern, picked up the captive without noticing her feeble pecks, undid
the noose from her leg, and carried her over the hedge to rest and
recover herself.
"'Now,' said he, 'you little imp of Satan, maybe you'll not come
stealing any more of my strawberries or pulling any more straw out of
my poor scarecrow's head!'
"And she never did!" concluded Uncle Andy, rising and stretching his
legs. "Those two were not _reformed_, you may be sure. But they kept
clear, after that, of the Boy's strawberry patch, and of _all
scarecrows_. It's time we were getting back to camp for supper, or
Bill will be feeling sour."
"But you haven't told me," protested the Babe, who had a most tenacious
memory, "why those crows all flew away out of the pine-top so suddenly,
as if they had just remembered something. And you haven't told me why
you'd rather be a humming-bird than a crow. And you haven't--"
But Uncle Andy stopped him.
"If you think I'm going to tell you all I know," said he, "you're
mistaken. If I did, you'd know as much as I do, and it wouldn't be any
fun.
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