away to other farms where powder was scarce-first and foremost descending in flocks on Brother Hornblower’s lands, and digging up his young corn—­it was in the month of May—­until even he found cause to go at these birds as don’t spin; for he found out that they toiled most laboriously.  Being a man of peaceful disposition, and opposed to the use of fire-arms, he thought over a plan by which fire-logs might be used with great advantage to his own benefit, by destroying a large number of crows at one fell blow.  How he succeeded in this fell-blow, was told a few evenings afterward in the grocery-post-office, by young Tyler, a promising youth who had not, as they say of other sad dogs, ‘quite got his set yet,’ that is, attained completion in figure and carriage.  Seated on the edge of a barrel half-filled with corn, and cutting a piece of pine-wood to one sharp point only to be followed by another sharp point, he was talking to another youth in a desultory manner, about his intentions ’to go by water,’ in old Bizzle’s schooner, next trip she took, when Squire Price came in to get his daily newspaper, The Beantown Democrat.

‘You bin givin’ them crows partikler hail, hain’t you, Squire?’ asked Tyler the youthful.

‘Wal, about as much as they kin kerry,’ answered the Squire.  ’They hain’t bin squawkin’ round my prem’ses none to speak of lately.’

‘They bin roond Brother Horublower’s, thick as pison, though,’ said Tyler.  ‘He counted on killin’ ’bout a milyon on ’em yesserday—­on-ly he didn’t quite come it.’

’Thought he wouldn’t never fire no guns at ’em!’

‘Put a couple o’ barrils into ’em yesserday.’

‘Why, how you talk!  You don’t mean it?’

’Honor bright!  He got a big travers on ’em—­leastwise, thought he had.  His brindle kaow, she got pizened night afore last, down there in the woods; couldn’t do nuthin with her, and she died same night.  So he goes and skins her, and throws her out into that gully down there, back o’ Bizzle’s wood, and says he to me—­for I was over there workin’ for him—­says he, ’There’ll be a power o’crows onto her t’morrer, and I calc’late I’ll fix a few on ’em—­I will!’ So next mornin’-that was yesserdoy-we went out bright and airly, and rigged up a kind o’ blind at the side of the gully, right over the old carcass, Then we got our amminishun all ready—­both barrils all loadid.’

‘By jing!’ said the Squire, rubbing his hands, ‘I wish I’d bin there.’

’Got all ready.  Purty soon up comes one crow, sails round and round, then two or three more, then a few more; they begun to smell meat.  Then they flew lower and lower; bime by one settles onto an old dead cedar and begins cawin’ for dear life.  Then down he comes, then more and more of ’em.  Round they come, cawin’ and flappin’ their wings, clouds of ’em.  Guess there was ‘bout two hundred settled onto that old kaow.’

‘Wish I’d bin there with my gun!’ spoke the Squire, intensely excited.  ‘A feller could have made the most biggest kind of a shot.’