Identifier: stnicholasserial301dodg (find matches)
Title: St. Nicholas (serial)
Year: 1873 (1870s)
Authors: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Subjects: Children's literature
Publisher: (New York : Scribner & Co.)
Contributing Library: Information and Library Science Library, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill
Digitizing Sponsor: University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill

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AND THE SCI1. IOI. CHILDREN. and hie away to his pine-tree. One stormynight I nailed a perch high up in one corner ofthe woodshed. I then called Grip to myshoulder, from which he readily flew to theperch. After that he came every night at duskto be put to bed in the same way. He sleptthere through the cold winter nights, well shel-tered from the storms. March came, and Grip was often seen circlingaround overhead with a flock of crows that fre- Vol. XXX.—9-10 quented the place. I wondered if he would notselect a mate and set up housekeeping in hispine-tree, and rear a family of talking crows.He was becoming more fluent in our language,every now and then adding a new word to hisvocabulary, until it consisted of the following : Go way, Grip, go way, Come here, Grip ;come, Grippy, come, All right, Hurry up, Cope, Coaly, cope, Coaly, cope, cope, Hur-rah, and other words that were not quite plain 66 GRIP, THE TALKING CROW. (Nov.
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HAD I NOT FLED Al (,kll s ( K\ !■ IMNi.Kli. (E 1IKKN I KA.MII ED I MH.K THE HOOFS OF THE STAMPEDING HERD. (SEE PAGE 63.) enough to understand, but which, no doubt, hewould have mastered in time. But, alas! he came to an untimely death.One night he failed to meet me at the willowupon my return from school. No one hadseen him that afternoon. I found him in a shed, crouched upon anold barrel, looking very sick and miserable,and with green stains upon his bill. The can of Paris green was found overturned in thebarn, and that told the story. The poor fellowhad been eating the poison. He refused food,uttering plaintive little croaks as I stroked himand said Poor Grippy ! I left him for thenight, hoping his crow constitution was strongenough to resist the deadly poison. In the morning I found him sitting as Ihad left him, but no soft croak greeted me. GRIP, THE TALKING CROW. He was cold and stiff in death. Do you won-der that my tears fell freely, and that I felt noshame in weeping

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