"If you were going to be caught out in a blizzard, would you rather be
in dry clothes or in wet ones?" he inquired.

The Babe smiled apologetically and resumed his study of the agitated
pine-tops, whence, from time to time, a crow, or two or three, would
burst forth for a brief, whirling flight, as if to show how it was
done. Then other flights were made, which seemed to the Babe extremely
brief and hesitating, as if the flyers were nervous when they found
themselves out clear of the branches and suspended on their own wings
over the empty deeps of air. Presently there was a sudden tumultuous
outburst of _ca_-ing, the branches shook, and a whole flock, perhaps
two score or more, swarmed into the air. After a few moments of
clamorous confusion they all flew off in the direction of the muddy
flats at the lower end of the lake. The pine-tops subsided into
stillness. But an occasional hoarse croak or muttered guttural showed
that a few of their occupants had been left at home. The Babe wondered
what it had all been about, but he succeeded in holding his tongue.

In a moment or two this heroic self-restraint had its reward.

"Trying to show some of the youngsters how to fly, and jeering at the
timid ones and the stupid ones!" explained Uncle Andy.

"Oh!" said the Babe, with a long, appreciative inflection.

Uncle Andy paused, leaving an opening for more questions. But the Babe
refused to be drawn, so presently, with a comprehending grin, he went
on:

"It's rather a small affair for crows, you know, this colony of theirs