"Well, well!" Mr. Crow exclaimed. "I'm glad I happened to mention the
matter. They're there--heaps of 'em--great brown piles of 'em--thousands
of 'em!"

"_Where_ are they?" Frisky asked him eagerly.

"Oh--I thought I told you," Mr. Crow said. "Why--they're in Farmer
Green's attic. His boy put them up there to dry. I saw them through
the window, this very day."

Frisky Squirrel was disappointed.

"I mustn't go to Farmer Green's house," he said.

"Pooh! Why not?" asked Mr. Crow.

"It isn't safe. I went there once to get some cake, and I nearly lost
my life in the kitchen."

"Ah! But this is different," Mr. Crow explained. "You don't have to go
into the kitchen at all. All you have to do is to climb that big tree
close by the house. And you can hop right through the attic window.
There's nobody upstairs in the daytime. In fact, I should call it one
of the safest places to go that I know of."

When Mr. Crow said that, Frisky believed him. Mr. Crow was so old, and
so wise, and so solemn, that Frisky thought that anything he said must
be true.

"I'm going past Farmer Green's house right now," Mr. Crow told Frisky.