“Well, sir, I didn’ see ‘n agen nex’ day, nor for many days arter; but on Sunday-week, as et mou’t be, i’ the mornin’ I’d a-took French lave an’ absented mysel’ from Meetin’ House, an’ were quietly smokin’ my pipe up in the town-place, [12] when I hears a chitterin’ an’ a chatterin’ like as ‘twere a little way off; an’ lookin’ down t’wards the twenty-acred field, I seed ‘twere black wi’ rooks—­fairly black, sir—­black as the top o’ your hat.  Thinks I, ’I reckon here’s some new caper,’ an’ I loafes down to see the fun.

“I stales down the lane, an’ looks over the gate, an’ when I takes in, at las’, what ‘tes all about, my!—­you mou’t ha’ knacked me down wi’ a feather!  ‘Twas a prayer-meetin’ them rooks was a-holdin’, sir, as I’m a senner.  The peas was fairly hid wi’ the crowd, an’ ’twas that thick I counted sax ‘pon wan pea-stick.  An’ in the middle, jes’ onder the scarecrow, stood up th’ ould rook I’d a-seen afore, an’ told hes experiences.  He ramped, an’ raved, an’ mopped, an’ mowed, an’ kep’ a-noddin’ his head t’wards the scarecrow, to show how hes salvashun was worked; an’ all the time the rest o’ the rooks sat still as mice.  On’y when he pulls up to breathe a bit, they lets out an’ squalls, as ef to say, ’Amen.  ‘Tes workin’—­’tes workin’!  Pray strong, brother!’ an’ at et he’d go agen, same as he must.  An’ at las’, when ’twas ‘hold breath or bust’ wi’ ‘un, he ups an’ starts a hemn, an’ they all jines in, till you mou’t hear the caprouse [13] two mile off.  That were the finish, too; for arter the row died away, there was a minnit or so o’ silent prayer, an’ then the whole gang gets up off they pea-sticks an’ sails away for Squire Tresawsen’s rookery, t’other side o’ the hill.

“Well, in cou’se I tells the tale, an’ was called a liard for my pains.  But the same thing happen’d nex’ Sunday, an’ the Sunday arter—­an’ not a pea stolen all the time—­an’ a good few people comed down behind the hedge to see, an’ owned up as I were right.  Et got to be the talk o’ the country; an’ how ‘twud ha’ ended, goodness on’y knaws, ef I hadn’ a-spi’led the sport mysel’.  An’ how I did so, you shall hear.

“Wan day I tuk a consait as ’twud be a game to take away the scarecrow’s eye an’ see what happen’d.  So, late ’pon a Sat’rday night, down I goes an’ digs out the eye wi’ my jack-knife, an’ lays et careful down ‘pon the ground beside et, an’ so off to bed.

“Nex’ mornin’ I were down waitin’ some time afore the rooks was due, an’ by-’m-by, about ’leven in the forenoon, ’long they comes by the score, an’ takes the sittin’s ’pon the pea-sticks.  They was barely settled, when out steps my ould rook an’ walks up to the scarecrow to lead off same as ushul.

“He gives a shake o’ the head to set hes jawin’-tacks loose, casts a glance up’ards t’wards the eye, jes’ to fetch inspirashun, an’ starts back like as ef shot.  You cou’d see the ’stonishment clinch ’n, an’ the look o’ righteousness melted off hes face like snow in an oven.  For that bird had gifts, sir; an’ wan o’ these was a power o’ fashul expresshun.  Well, back he starts, an’, with the same, cotches sight o’ the eye lyin’ ‘pon the ground an’ starin’ up all heav’nly-blue an’ smilin’.