He dropped from the scarecrow's trouser leg and scurried off to his hole beneath the toolhouse.

The Boy, his face a mixture of amusement and concern, picked up the captive without noticing her feeble pecks, undid the noose from her leg, and carried her over the hedge to rest and recover herself.
"'Now,' said he, 'you little imp of Satan, maybe you'll not come stealing any more of my strawberries or pulling any more straw out of my poor scarecrow's head!' "And she never did!" concluded Uncle Andy, rising and stretching his legs.

"Those two were not _reformed_, you may be sure.

But they kept clear, after that, of the Boy's strawberry patch, and of _all scarecrows_.

It's time we were getting back to camp for supper, or Bill will be feeling sour." "But you haven't told me," protested the Babe, who had a most tenacious memory, "why those crows all flew away out of the pine-top so suddenly, as if they had just remembered something.