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THE INDIAN CROW.
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sat on one end of the balcony, the crows would gather on the railing at the other end and talk about me; and edge closer, little by little, till I could almost reach them; and they would sit there, in the most unabashed way, and talk about my clothes, and my hair, and my complexion, and probable character and vocation and politics, and how I came to be in India, and what I had been doing, and how many
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oppressively sociable.
days I had got for it, and how I had happened to go unhanged so long, and when would it probably come off, and might
