Doubt not a friend, but to the last    Grip hard on faith and hold it fast.
   —Blacky the Crow.
Every morning Blacky the Crow visited the rushes along the shore of the Big River, hoping to find Dusky the Black Duck. He was anxious, was Blacky. He feared that Dusky or some of his flock had been killed, and he wanted to know. You see, he knew that Farmer Brown's boy had been shooting over there. At last, early one morning, he found Dusky and his flock in the rushes and wild rice. Eagerly he counted them. There were nine. Not one was missing. Blacky sighed with relief and dropped down on the shore close to where Dusky was taking a nap.
 
“Hello!” said Blacky.
 
Dusky awoke with a start. “Hello, yourself,” said he.
 
“I've heard a terrible gun banging over here, and I was afraid you or some of your flock had been shot,” said Blacky.
 
“We haven't lost a feather,” declared Dusky. “That gun wasn't fired at us, anyway.”
 
“Then who was it fired at?” demanded Blacky.
 
“I haven't the least idea,” replied Dusky.
 
“Have you seen any other Ducks about here?” inquired Blacky.
 
“Not one,” was Dusky's prompt reply. “If there had been any, I guess we would have known it.”
 
“Did you know that when that terrible gun was fired there was another terrible gun right over behind those bushes?” asked Blacky.
 
Dusky shook his head. “No,” said he, “but I learned long ago that where there is one terrible gun there is likely to be more, and so when I heard that one bang, I led my flock away from here in a hurry. We didn't want to t............