i just tell you chaik and tad didn’t mind that rain. tad coon had a big, dry cellar to hunt in and a fine supply of mice who came to nibble his corn. chaik jay slept in his corner of the window sill in the kitchen behind the curtain. it wasn’t quite so convenient as perching, for his long claws got in his way, but he found the varnished back of a chair too slippery; besides, he wanted to keep an eye on his raisins. those thieving mice once tried to steal them. he gave one of them a good peck; it ran off squealing with one leg up, and after that they knew better than to bother him.

when louie’s father came padding in and began putting on his shoes that he had left under the stove to dry the night before he danced and flapped good morning. and wasn’t the man just flattered to death to have a wild bird out of the woods as friendly as that?

when chaik flapped he got more excited than ever. “my wing is well again!” he squawked. “yah! my wing is well again!” then didn’t he have some fun? he could fly over the stove and perch on the handle of the teakettle while mr. thomson laid the fire for breakfast.

but all the man said was, “you think you own this house, don’t you? well, i dunno but you’re about right, you sassy thing!”

chaik just answered, “hey?” that’s all he said when mr. thomson opened the door to go out and chaik’s well wing brushed against his ear as he slipped out beside him. “now look what i’ve done,” said the man who didn’t like woodsfolk. “i s’pose that’s the last we’ll see of you.” and he felt so lonesome as he watched chaik go flitting off through the rain that he remembered about bringing back something from the barn for tad coon’s breakfast. he wanted tad to stay.

but he needn’t have worried about never seeing chaik jay again. chaik knew when he was well off. he just wanted to take a good flippity-flap with his well wing to be sure it worked right, and he was ’most afraid to try it in the house for fear he’d hit something with it. my, but it was fun to fly up high and come sliding down the air again; it was fun even if it was still raining.

but he didn’t stay out in the rain long enough to get very wet. he went over to the barn and poked around. he was a little scary at first about going in the dark doorway, but after he’d been in there a little while he just had to hunt up tad coon. tad was so full of mice he was dozing off to sleep in the cellar; he came out when he heard chaik calling.

“oh, tad!” chaik exclaimed, bobbing his head and flirting his tail because he was too excited to keep still even while he was talking. “this is a wonderful place. that big barn where the cows live is perfectly safe for birds. those swallows have left their nests all over it, and they’re such scary fellows they wouldn’t stay a minute if anything happened to one of them. i found a robin’s nest, too, a mud one, but it’s round, not flat on one side like a swallow’s, and it’s too big for a phoebe bird—i sat in it to see. (tad coon grinned at that.) besides, it hasn’t any cocoons or moss in it.”

“i thought you’d like the barn,” tad nodded. “but where were you last night? i couldn’t find you anywhere. and your supper is still in your cage. did you get anything to eat?”

“did i get anything to eat? why, these house-folks have more things stored away to eat than all the jays in the deep woods put together. that trap where they keep the corn doesn’t catch me. i can walk in and out any time i want to. (he meant the corn crib; the slats wouldn’t hold him any more than they would a mouse.) and i found a knothole into the biggest pile of wheat you ever dreamed about. (that was the grain room, of course.) and there’s dusty stuff the cows are eating (meal and bran), and some little wrinkly sweet wild grapes i hid in a special place. i’ll give you a taste.” (he meant his raisins in the kitchen window.)

“i guess you had plenty to eat, all right enough,” remarked tad, “but you never told me where you slept.”

“hey?” chuckled chaik with his most mischievous air, “i wouldn’t dare; you wouldn’t believe me. i’ll just have to show you. come along.” and he flapped right up to the kitchen window. then wasn’t he the puzzled bird? he could see louie’s mother moving around inside, getting the breakfast. he could see the raisins poked into the crack. but he couldn’t get in there to get them. he walked all the way up the screen, fluttering and scratching. pretty soon he perched on the sill and began to think it over.

“that’s the second time this has happened,” he said. “i hid a little shiny hollow acorn last night, and then i couldn’t get it again. i knew right where it was, too. now i can see those little wrinkly grapes, right where i put them, but i can’t get them either. it’s very queer.”

“you mean you were in the house?” gasped tad. “right up inside it, with the traps shut?” (he meant with the doors closed; he hadn’t learned all the proper house names for things yet.) “but that wasn’t safe. what if that big man wanted to hit you like he did me and louie?” tad didn’t quite trust him yet.

“he didn’t,” said chaik. “he’s not a bit peckish, even if he does make more noise than watch the dog when he barks.” (that was what chaik thought of mr. thomson’s laughing.) “yeah! hey!” he called suddenly because he saw louie.

louie looked up. he was feeling quite scared because he didn’t see anything of his bird—not even a little pile of feathers to show that the cats had caught him. “why, however did you get there?” he asked, and he ran to open the window and shove up the screen.

in hopped chaik. all his nice raisins had dropped out of the crack when louie opened the window for him, but he didn’t care. he just ate a few himself and shoved a taste of them down to tad. “that happened, too,” he said thoughtfully as he gulped a raisin. “the minute i stopped worrying about my acorn, one of the house-folks gave it to me. a house isn’t fixed for birds. but it’s very interesting—and full of smells.” he turned his beak toward the stove where louie’s mother was frying bacon.

“mmn! mmn! lovely ones,” sniffed tad, twitching his nose around until he made such funny faces louie began to giggle at him. he could smell that bacon right through the window.

louie’s father came back from the barn carrying the milk pails all full and frothing. he had more milk than usual that morning—he remembered about that a long time afterward. he didn’t know it yet, but his luck began to turn on that farm the very day he made friends with the woodsfolk. you’ll see.

“why didn’t you wake me up?” asked louie in a very surprised voice. the little boy could sleep right through all the racket of the alarm clock, even if chaik jay couldn’t. his father almost always called him to help with the milking.

“oh, i just guessed you might as well sleep,” said his father. “you can feed the calf if you’ve a mind to.” he knew louie liked to do that. it isn’t nearly as hard work either. “i kind of wish i had, though,” the big man went on. “i let your bird out. he was over in the barn this morning. maybe we could catch him again, but i don’t know. he was flying pretty strong.”

“hey?” asked chaik, before louie could even answer. he half guessed they would be talking about him—conceited thing!

“that was all right,” said the little boy. “i let him in again. he came back, just like my coon.”

louie’s father stared at chaik, sitting on the window sill with the window open behind him so he could go out and in. then he peeked out and saw tad coon down below with his nose all wiggling because he smelled the bacon louie’s mother was cooking. “hm! looks like we had company to breakfast,” was all he said.

but it wasn’t all he did. he gave chaik some nice crisp bacon crumbs—he insisted it was just to see if the bird really would eat them. and louie’s mother caught him right in the act of slipping a good slice out to tad coon. “here,” she laughed, “there’s no need for you to feed that fellow. i’m frying up some cracklings for him and the cats.” she made a delicious mixture of odds and ends of bacon and bread and such things. but when louie went to carry it out, the poor cats climbed up on the shelf in the shed and spat and whined because they hadn’t made any compact with any coon. so they said. really it was because they were afraid of him.

tad didn’t care. he wasn’t hungry, anyway. only he liked the taste of new things. he ate his share on the cellar steps. and the mice, who had run away to hide because he was hunting them, all crept to the mouth of the holes and sat there sniffing until their whiskers trembled.

“i say,” thought louie thomson to himself as he started off to school, “i just must talk with tommy peele. he knows about the wild things.” only louie wasn’t thinking about a wild thing, but about his father who used to be crosser than tad coon in a cage.