As dusk began to fall, a Wise Owl sat blinking in the hole of a tall oak tree. She was just going to sleep and had already closed her eyes when she suddenly heard a noise below, and, looking up, saw a foolish Crow hop nervously from one foot to the other and appear to be talking to her.
“Good-evening to you, Madam Owl,” cawed the Crow. “You are a very lucky bird; may I ask why it is you never go to the water to drink?”
“What do you mean by that?” said the Owl. “Why shouldn’t I go to the water to drink?”
“Oh, now that you speak of it,” said the Crow, “I am very glad you have such good eyes as to be able to see where you are going but I myself never see distinctly till I get very near to the water, and often I have so nearly fallen in before I could tell the colour of the stones at the bottom. But you have no such difficulty, of course.”
“None whatever,” said the Owl.
“Then why,” continued the Crow, “do you drink at the fountain which is at the foot of the hill instead of at the spring which is up at the top?”
“I prefer the water at the top,” said the Owl quietly.
“What did you say?” screamed the Crow.
“I said,” replied the Owl gently, “that I prefer the water at the fountain at the foot of the hill.”
“Oh! you prefer that, do you?” cawed the Crow loudly. “Well, there really is no accounting for tastes.”
Then the Crow cawed without heeding her, and the Owl blinked and slept and heard nothing but what the Crow pleased to say.
“Still,” said the Crow, “it is lucky for you that the Farmer admires the bad Corn so much as to throw it out, or you might go tax your good eyesight in vain to search for supper each night. It is also lucky for you that the Girl is so empty-headed as to leave about her mother’s milking-pail, or your reflection would sooner or later be seen in its bottom and you might get a fall from looking at it.”
At this the Owl woke up and cried with some asperity, “Who? Who? Who? Who are you?”
“Am I not?” said the Crow.
“I cannot tell because I cannot see you easily. Hop up a little nearer.”
So the foolish Crow hopped one pace nearer and cawed, “Am I not? Am I not?”
“Who? Who? Who? Am I not what?”
“Not what,” said the Crow. “Not what.”
Then the Owl stretched out her head and hooted in her usual tone, “Too-wit too-hoo!”
And the foolish Crow hopped nearer and unknowingly placed herself between two great stones, while the wise old Owl fell asleep.
In the morning the Farmer came out and two young men came with him and they all came to inspect the field, and suddenly one of them picked up a great stone and said, “Oh, look at this; why, here’s a little black leg under it.”
“Yes, and here is a wing,” said the second.
So they came with all haste to the house and the Farmer went into the poultry yard and the men behind him, and the little boy ran out of the house with his crying voice, and they all stood together near the mill-pail.
The next day two crows sat talking at the far corner of the yard.
“Well, did you hear what a fall our friend had from the sick Farmer’s talk yesterday?” asked one.
“Yes, she seemed to be a little nearer than usual, but I did not hear any of the particulars.”
“She is dead anyhow,” said the first. “Come, I must project into our pool the old Farmer’s words, `An owl doesn’t go to the fountain at the top of the hill when there’s plenty of water down below.’”