Naturally, Fumle-Drumle had nothing to say in the flock.  The crows were all of the opinion that he did not in the least take after his forefathers, and that he wouldn’t suit as a leader.  No one would have mentioned him, if he hadn’t constantly committed fresh blunders.  A few, who were quite sensible, sometimes said perhaps it was lucky for Fumle-Drumle that he was such a bungling idiot, otherwise Wind-Rush and Wind-Air would hardly have allowed him—­who was of the old chieftain stock—­to remain with the flock.

Now, on the other hand, they were rather friendly toward him, and willingly took him along with them on their hunting expeditions.  There all could observe how much more skilful and daring they were than he.

None of the crows knew that it was Fumle-Drumle who had pecked the rag out of the window; and had they known of this, they would have been very much astonished.  Such a thing as daring to approach a human being’s dwelling, they had never believed of him.  He kept the thing to himself very carefully; and he had his own good reasons for it.  Wind-Rush always treated him well in the daytime, and when the others were around; but one very dark night, when the comrades sat on the night branch, he was attacked by a couple of crows and nearly murdered.  After that he moved every night, after dark, from his usual sleeping quarters into the empty cabin.

Now one afternoon, when the crows had put their nests in order on crow-ridge, they happened upon a remarkable find.  Wind-Rush, Fumle-Drumle, and a couple of others had flown down into a big hollow in one corner of the heath.  The hollow was nothing but a gravel-pit, but the crows could not be satisfied with such a simple explanation; they flew down in it continually, and turned every single sand-grain to get at the reason why human beings had digged it.  While the crows were pottering around down there, a mass of gravel fell from one side.  They rushed up to it, and had the good fortune to find amongst the fallen stones and stubble—­a large earthen crock, which was locked with a wooden clasp!  Naturally they wanted to know if there was anything in it, and they tried both to peck holes in the crock, and to bend up the clasp, but they had no success.

They stood perfectly helpless and examined the crock, when they heard someone say:  “Shall I come down and assist you crows?” They glanced up quickly.  On the edge of the hollow sat a fox and blinked down at them.  He was one of the prettiest foxes—­both in colour and form—­that they had ever seen.  The only fault with him was that he had lost an ear.

“If you desire to do us a service,” said Wind-Rush, “we shall not say nay.”  At the same time, both he and the others flew up from the hollow.  Then the fox jumped down in their place, bit at the jar, and pulled at the lock—­but he couldn’t open it either.

“Can you make out what there is in it?” said Wind-Rush.  The fox rolled the jar back and forth, and listened attentively.  “It must be silver money,” said he.