It was so cold. Ah, so very cold! So thought the old raven as he hobbled up and down the terrace walk at the back of the house--the walk that was so pleasant in summer, with its pretty view of the lower garden, gay with the bright, stiffly-arranged flowerbeds, so pleasantly warm and yet shady with the old trees overhead, where the raven's second cousins, the rooks, managed their affairs, not without a good deal of chatter about it, it must be confessed. "Silly creatures," the raven was in the habit of calling them with contempt--all to himself, of course, for no one understood the different tones of his croaking, even though he was a French raven and had received the best of educations. But …
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