When the Peacock and his cousin had passed by, the Crow swooped down and carried off the two feathers which were to begin his collection.  He hid them in his treasure-house in the hollow tree, and started out for more.

It was great fun for the Crow, and he almost forgot to be miserable.  He followed old lady Ostrich about for some time before he dared tweak a handful of feathers from her tail.  But finally he succeeded; and though she squawked horribly and turned, quick as a flash, she was not quick enough to catch the nimble thief, who was already hidden under a bush.  In the same way he secured some lovely plumes from the Bird of Paradise, the Parrot, and the Cock.  He robbed the Redbreast of his ruddy vest, the Hoopoe of his crown, and he secured a swallow-tail which he had long coveted.  He took some rosy-redness from the Flamingo, the gilding of the Goldfinch, the gray down of an Eider-Duck.  He burgled the Bluebird and the Redbird and the Yellowbird; and not one single feathered creature escaped his clever beak.  At last his hole in the tree was brimming with feathers of every color, length, and degree of softness, a gorgeous feather-bed on which it would dazzle one to sleep.

Then the Crow set to work to make himself a coat of many colors, like Joseph’s.  He was a very clever bird, and a wondrous coat it turned out to be.  It had no particular cut nor style; it was not like the coat which any bird had ever before worn.  The feathers were placed in any fashion that happened to please his original fancy.  Some pointed up and some down; some were straight and some were curled; some drooped about his feet and others curved gracefully over his head; some trailed far behind.  He was completely covered from top to toe, so that not one blot of his own inky feathers showed through the gorgeousness.  A red vest he wore, and a swallow-tail, of course, and there was a crown of feathers on his head.  Never was there seen a more extraordinary bird nor one more gaudy.  Perhaps he was not in the best of taste, but at least he was striking.

When all was finished the Crow went and looked at himself in the fountain mirror; and he was much pleased.

“Well now!” he cried.  “How am I for a bird?  I believe no one will know me, and that is just as well; for now I am so fine that I shall myself refuse to know any one.  Ho!  This ought to give some ideas to that conceited Peacock family!  I am a self-made man.  I am an artist who knows how to adapt his materials.  I am a genius.  King Solomon himself will wonder at my glory.  And as for the Eagle, King of the Birds, he will grow pale with envy.  King of the Birds, indeed!  It is now I who should rightfully be King.  No other ever wore clothes so fine as mine.  By right of them I ought to be King of the Birds.  I will be King of the Birds!”

You see the poor old Crow was quite crazy with his one idea.

Forth he stalked into Birdland to show his gorgeous plumage and to get himself elected King of the Birds.  The first persons he met were the Peacock and his cousin,—­he who was once the Crow’s best friend.  The Crow ruffled himself his prettiest when he saw them coming.