Tuesday, July 18, 2017


 When Jim Crow became a member of our family he was very young, and  could hardly balance himself upon his slender legs.
 We fed him upon raw eggs and scraps of raw meat until he grew strong  and the black feathers had become smooth and glossy, and the bright  eyes were brighter, and Jim Crow had changed into a beautiful bird.
 A smart bird was Jim, devoted to his master and mistress, hailing them
 with a loud caw whenever their steps were heard, and hopping about to
 greet them.

 Jim could talk a little, and would have acquired much more knowledge
 of the language if he had lived longer.

 He would spread his wings, purple in their deep black, and call in a  hoarse voice, “Come on, come on,” very distinctly.
 He would greet his master with “Hello, Papa,” and delighted in feeding  from his hand. He knew when the butcher boy came with the meat, and  was at the cook’s side when she received the basket, croaking for his  share.

 Jim delighted in a plunge bath, and would splash away in an earthern  crock a dozen times a day, if it was filled for him.

 He liked red and blue, and if ladies called at the house dressed in  these colors, the young crow would become frantic, spreading his wings  and tail, and crying, “Come on, Come on,” to the amusement of all.

 He would often eat corn with the chickens, and would act in a very  greedy way, filling his bill with the grain, rushing away and hiding  it, then coming back for more. If the chickens did not eat as fast as  they could, Jim had the lion’s share.

 Jim was hurt one day by a stray dog, and then we didn’t have a crow  any more.

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