Oh, those men! those men! The old bird knew them.

He had grown up among men, and, what was more, among the
aristocracy. He had passed his childhood and youth at the great
house close to the town.

But now, whenever he passed over the house, he soared high into the
air, so as not to be recognized. For when he saw a female figure
down in the garden, he thought it was the young lady of the house,
wearing powdered hair and a white head-dress; whereas it was in
reality her daughter, with snow-white curls and a widow's cap.

Had he enjoyed his life among the aristocracy? Oh, that's as you
please to look at it. There was plenty to eat and plenty to learn;
but, after all, it was captivity. During the first years his left
wing was clipped, and afterwards, as his old master used to say, he
was upon _parole d'honneur_.

This parole he had broken one spring when a glossy-black young
she-raven happened to fly over the garden.

Some time afterwards--a few winters had slipped away--he came back
to the house. But some strange boys threw stones at him; the old
master and the young lady were not at home.

"No doubt they are in town," thought the old raven; and he came
again some time later. But he met with just the same reception.

Then the gentlemenly old bird--for in the meantime he had grown
old--felt hurt, and now he flew high over the house. He would have