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MR. CROW was in no hurry to leave Black Creek. And after Fatty Coon had limped away the old gentleman still sat in the tree which hung over the water. He hoped that Timothy Turtle would crawl out upon the bank and growl about Fatty.

The old black rascal was not disap­pointed. Fatty Coon had not been gone long when Timothy Turtle dragged him­self out of the creek and stretched himself upon the sand in the warm sunshine.

"How's your eye?" Mr. Crow asked him hoarsely.

"It's feeling better; but it's a wonder that I can see with it at all," Timothy Turtle grumbled. "If I ever get hold of that fat young fellow again I'll hull him under the water before he knows what's happened to him. He doesn't fight fair."

Old Mr. Crow chuckled.

"You'll never have another chance to show him the right way," he remarked. "He won't come near this creek, or my name's not – ahem – Mr. Crow."

"What's your first name?" Timothy Turtle inquired, as he stared unpleasantly at the speaker.

"Never mind!" said the other. "Mr. Crow will do, if you want to attract my attention."

Timothy Turtle frowned.

"I don't want to," he retorted. "The fact is, I'd rather be alone. I don't care to have strangers peeping down at me when I'm enjoying a sun-bath."

"But I like to look at you," old Mr. Crow assured him solemnly. "You make me think, of somebody I've known for a good many years."

"Ah! An old friend!" Timothy ex­claimed.

"Well – not a friend, exactly," Mr. Crow explained. "He lives in the South, where I spend the winters. You look like him, in many ways."

"And his name?" Timothy Turtle said.

"Mr. Alligator!"

Timothy Turtle grunted.

"Humph!" he said. "I've never heard of him."

"That's not strange," old Mr. Crow told him. "He stays all the time in the South and you stay all the time in the North. You couldn't very well meet, you see."

"Your tail is a good deal like his," Mr. Crow continued. "And when you walk you have a trick of raising yourself some­times on your hind legs, with your head and tail stretched out – a trick that reminds me of him."

For once Timothy seemed pleased.

"Anything else?" he demanded, with something that was almost like a smile. Unfortunately, he had passed so many years with a constant frown on his face that smiling actually hurt him.

"Why, yes! There is something else," old Mr. Crow went on. "You and he have the same way of snapping at things."

There was no doubt, now, that Timothy Turtle was gratified.

"He must be a fine bird – this Mr. Al­ligator!" he exclaimed.

Old Mr. Crow spluttered. And he had to hang on tight to save himself from tumbling off his perch.

A bird!  Timothy Turtle thought that Mr. Alligator was a bird!

The mistake was so amusing that Mr. Crow wanted to laugh. But he knew that would never do – if he wanted any more fun with Timothy Turtle.

So he pretended to cough. And he wrapped his muffler more snugly about his neck, remarking that there was a cold wind that day, even though the sun was warm.