|If we must die--let it not be like hogs Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot, While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs, Making their mock at our accursed lot. If we must die--oh, let us nobly die, So that our precious blood may not b... Read more of If We Must Die at Martin Luther King.ca|| Informational|
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The Owl And The Raven
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The Owl And The Raven
Once upon a time the owl and the raven were fast friends.
They lived beside the same stream. They built their nests in a tree
side by side. They sang the same songs. They ate the same food. They
wore dresses of the same pale gray.
There was nothing that these friends would not do for each other. So
great was their friendship that each was always finding ways to
surprise and please the other.
At one time the raven was absent for two whole days.
"What can he be doing?" said the owl to herself. "I know he is
planning some new surprise for me."
When, on the third day, the raven returned, the owl knew from his
contented looks that the present must be unusually fine.
"It is something more than a beetle or a field-mouse this time," she
thought. "Now what can I do for him? He is always so kind to me!"
Then the owl began to look about for something to do for her friend the
On the shore near their home tree a huge whale had once been caught and
cut up by the Eskimo hunters. Some of the bones still lay upon the
"Oh," said the owl, as she chanced upon these whalebones, "I know the
very thing which will please my dear friend the raven!
"I will make for him a pair of beautiful whalebone boots! With them he
can walk over the sharp rocks and the icy cliffs in comfort and safety!"
Thereupon the owl sat down in the sand and went to work. It was not
long until the boots were finished. They were beautifully smooth and
slender and graceful.
"The raven cannot help being pleased," she said, as she carried the
boots toward the home tree. "I wonder if he is in!"
As she drew near the owl heard the raven calling her name. Answering
loudly, she hurried to the place where he waited. But before the raven
saw her she hid the whalebone boots among the grasses, that she might
surprise him later.
She found the raven hopping impatiently about and calling loudly.
"Here--here I am!" she cried. "I have been away for but a short
time--but you were away for days!"
"Oh, owl, dear," replied the raven, "though I have been absent I have
thought only of you!
"See! here is a beautiful new dress which I have made for you!" And
the raven spread before his friend a beautiful dress of dappled black
It was made of the softest, most beautiful feathers, lovely enough to
delight the heart of any bird.
"Oh, how very beautiful!" cried the owl. "How kind you are to me! How
did you ever think of anything so lovely?"
The raven smiled, well pleased with himself.
"Try it on," he said. "I am sure it will become you. I am certain
that when you see how lovely you look, you will never again wish to
wear anything but black and white."
Quickly the owl slipped from her old gray dress into the splendid new
one. Gently she fluttered about and ruffled the soft black and white
"Where did you get them?" she said, circling about and looking at her
tail for the twentieth time.
"Sit down," commanded the raven, "and I will tell you!" So the owl
settled down on the branch beside the raven.
"I found the feathers on that steep, rocky cliff beside the sea," he
said. "The stones were sharp and the winds were wearying, but at last
I finished the dress just as I planned.
"I am glad that you are pleased. I am very tired now, and must sit
still and rest."
So delighted was the owl that for a moment she had forgotten the
whalebone boots. Now as she looked at the raven she saw that in
scratching about for the feathers he had broken one of his pink toes.
With a little cry of pity she flew to the grasses where the boots were
hidden. Quickly she snatched them up and flew back to the poor tired
"Here," she cried, "here!--I thought of you while you were away. Now
you shall put your tired feet into these strong whale-bone boots. The
stones and the ice cannot hurt you again."
"Oh, oh!" croaked the raven. "They are the very things for which I
have been longing!"
"Put them on! Put them on!" cried the owl. "See how they will rest
you! They will make you feel quite young again!"
The raven slipped his tired feet into the whalebone boots. Straight
away the old tired ache left him. He hopped gaily about and croaked
"How graceful!" he said. "How perfectly they fit! How comfortable."
"Now I shall make a coat for you," said the owl. "It shall be pure
white. The feathers shall be the shiniest and the loveliest that I can
By and bye the raven's white coat was ready to be fitted.
"Come," commanded the owl. "Come and stand still while I fit your
The raven came, but so delighted was he with the whalebone boots that
he could not stand still. As the owl worked over him he kept hopping
and dancing about.
"Stand still!" cried the owl. "I can do nothing with you hopping about
so. I shall stick the pin-feathers into you!"
For an instant the raven stood still, looking down at the boots. Then
he jumped so suddenly that the owl dropped a whole clawful of the soft
white feathers with which she was finishing the neck.
Then the owl grew very angry.
"Stand still!" she hooted. "If you jump another time I will throw the
oil from the lamp on you!"'
Now the lamp was filled with whale-oil. In it wicks of moss and
twisted grass had been burned. With time and many wicks the oil had
become as black as soot.
The raven looked at the black, sooty oil and then at his new white
coat. He really stood still for as much as two minutes.
Just as the owl was trying to decide whether or not the coat should be
longer, to cover the tops of the new boots, the raven caught sight of
his own reflection in the clear water below.
So pleased was he with his appearance that he flapped his wings, and
jumped up and down.
The loose white feathers flew in every direction. The pin-feathers
dropped to the ground. The angry owl gasped for breath.
Then in a rage she seized the lamp. She flung it at the raven. Alas,
for the poor fellow! The oil struck him full on the head. It ran down
before. It ran down behind! There was not a dry feather on him!
"Quag! Quag!" croaked he, the oil dripping down on all sides. "Quag!
Quag! I shall never speak to you again!"
"No," cried the owl. "Do not speak to me again. I would not have such
a sooty friend as you!" and she flew far away.
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