"Oh, oh, oh!" exclaimed David, in sympathetic consternation.
"Here, you just wait a minute. I'll fix it."

With confident celerity David whipped out his jackknife to cut
the thong; but he found then that to "fix it" and to say he would
"fix it" were two different matters.

The crow did not seem to recognize in David a friend. He saw in
him, apparently, but another of the stone-throwing, gun-shooting,
torturing humans who were responsible for his present hateful
captivity. With beak and claw and wing, therefore, he fought this
new evil that had come presumedly to torment; and not until David
had hit upon the expedient of taking off his blouse, and throwing
it over the angry bird, could the boy get near enough to
accomplish his purpose. Even then David had to leave upon the
slender leg a twist of leather.

A moment later, with a whir of wings and a frightened squawk that
quickly turned into a surprised caw of triumphant rejoicing, the
crow soared into the air and made straight for a distant
tree-top. David, after a minute's glad surveying of his work,
donned his blouse again and resumed his walk.

It was almost six o'clock when David got back to the Holly
farmhouse. In the barn doorway sat Perry Larson.

"Well, sonny," the man greeted him cheerily, "did ye get yer
weedin' done?"