eggs, of course, that boy, but not _their_ eggs! They flapped around
him savagely, and made so much noise in his ears that he could not hear
himself think. But he kept his big straw hat pulled down well over his
eyes, and paid no attention whatever to the indignant birds. And
because he was so quiet and positive about it, not one of them _quite_
dared to actually touch him. The mother bird hopped off the nest
sullenly just as he was about to put his hand on her. He took one egg,
put it in his pocket, examined the nest with interest, and climbed down
again. Just as he was nearing the ground he broke the egg. This, of
course, made him feel not only sticky but somewhat embarrassed. He saw
that he might have some difficulty in explaining that pocket to his
mother. Even a great deal of balsam would have been better than _that_
egg. But he comforted himself with the thought that he would never
have been able to blow it, anyhow, on account of its being so advanced.

"And that's why there were only two young crows in that particular nest.

"But they were an altogether unusual pair, these two. In the first
place, receiving all the food and all the attention that were usually
divided among four or five, they had grown and feathered
extraordinarily fast, till now they were ready for flight, while their
fellows in the neighboring nests were still ragged and 'quilly'
looking. In the second place, they had inherited from their eccentric
parents an altogether surprising amount of originality. Their feathers
were beautifully firm and black and glossy, their beaks sharp and
polished; and in their full, dark, intelligent eyes there was an
impishness that even a crow might regard as especially impish."

"What's _impish_?" demanded the Babe.