THE CROW-CHILD 155

Poor Cora felt sure that this could be no other than
Ruky. Oh, if she only could have caught him then! Per-
haps with kisses and prayers she night have won him back
to Ruky’s shape; but now the chance was lost.

There was no one to help her; for the nearest neighbor
dwelt miles away, and her uncle had not yet returned.

After awhile she remembered the little cup, and, filling
it with grain, stood it upon a grassy mound. When the
crows came, they fought and strugeled for its contents
with many an angry cry. One of them made no effort to
seize the grain. He was content to peck at the berries
painted upon its sides, as he hopped joyfully around it
again and again. Nep lay very quiet. Only the tip of his
tail twitched with an eager, wistful motion. But Cora
sprang joyfully toward the bird.

“Tt is Ruky!” she cried, striving to catch it.

Alas! the cup lay shattered beneath her hand, as, with a
taunting, “ caw, caw,” the crow joined its fellows and flew
away.

Next, gunners came. They were looking for other birds;
but they hated the crows, Cora knew, and she trembled
for Ruky. She heard the sharp crack of fowling-pieces
in the forest, and shuddered whenever Nep, pricking up
his ears, darted with an angry howl in the direction of
the sound. She knew, too, that her uncle had set traps
for the crows, and it seemed to her that the whole world
was against the poor birds, plotting their destruction.

Time flew by. The leaves seemed to flash into bright
colors and fall off almost in a day. Frost and snow came.
Still the uncle had not returned, or, if he had, she did not