When friends prove false, whom may we trust?    The springs of faith are turned to dust.
   —Blacky the Crow.
Blacky the Crow was in the top of his favorite tree over near the Big River early this afternoon. He didn't know what was going to happen, but he felt in his bones that something was, and he meant to be on hand to see. For a long time he sat there, seeing nothing unusual. At last he spied a tiny figure far away across the Green Meadows. Even at that distance he knew who it was; it was Farmer Brown's boy, and he was coming toward the Big River.
 
“I thought as much,” chuckled Blacky. “He is coming over here to drive that hunter away.”
 
The tiny figure grew larger. It was Farmer Brown's boy beyond a doubt. Suddenly Blacky's eyes opened so wide that they looked as if they were in danger of popping out of his head. He had discovered that Farmer Brown's boy was carrying something and that that something was a gun! Yes, Sir, Farmer Brown's boy was carrying a terrible gun! If Blacky could have rubbed his eyes, he would have done so, just to make sure that there was nothing the matter with them.
 
“A gun!” croaked Blacky. “Farmer Brown's boy with a terrible gun! What does it mean?”
 
Nearer came Farmer Brown's boy, and Blacky could see that terrible gun plainly now. Suddenly an idea popped into his head. “Perhaps he is going to shoot that hunter!” thought Blacky, and somehow he felt better.
 
Farmer Brown's boy reached the Big River at a point some distance below the blind built by the hunter. He laid his gun down on the bank and went down to the edge of the water. The rushes grew very thick there, and for a while Farmer Brown's boy was very busy among them. Blacky from his high perch could watch him, and as he watched, he grew ............