The eagle glared at them steadily with his fierce, black-and-yellow
eyes, but otherwise seemed to pay them no attention whatever. Only he
kept mounting higher and higher, till at last his impish
tormentors--_impish_, I said--dared follow him no farther. They came
fluttering down hurriedly to more congenial levels, and flew back to
the grove to boast of their 'great victory.'"

"My, but that eagle must have felt awfully ashamed!" exclaimed the Babe.

"The _next_ day," continued Uncle Andy, without noticing the
interruption, "the two old crows began to think it would soon be time
to teach this independent pair of youngsters to fly. And they thought,
too, that they'd be able to manage it all by themselves, without any
help or advice from the rest of the flock. While they were thinking
about it, in the next tree, for they were not a great pair to stay at
home, you know, one of the youngsters, the female, gave an impatient
squawk, spread her wings, and fell off her branch. She thought it was
flying, you know, but at first she just fell, flapping her wings
wildly. In two seconds, however, she seemed to get the hang of it,
more or less. With a violent effort, she rose, gained the next tree,
alighted, panting, beside her parents and looked at them with a
superior air, as if she thought that they could never have accomplished
such a thing at her age. That was perhaps true, of course, but it was
not for her to think so."

"Huh! I should think not, indeed!" agreed the Babe severely.

"Well," continued Uncle Andy, now quite absorbed in his narrative, "the
other youngster, not to be outdone, went hopping up in great excitement
from branch to branch, till he was some ten feet above the rest of the