“What’s got you down, Scarey?” said Crow, settling on the scarecrow’s outstretched arm.

“Well, I’m not all that good at scaring crows, as you know,” said Scarey.

“Not all that good?” Crow said, trying to be kind. “Why, you scared Cousin Crow so much that he took an hour, maybe two, to come back and eat some corn! Uncle Crow said he’d never seen him so spooked.”

“It’s kind of you to say, but you perched on me and saying it rather proves my point,” said Scarey. “But it’s okay. I know my limitations, and I’d rather have you as a friend than an enemy.”

“So what’s the problem then?” said Crow.

“My other job, my only other job, is to be spooky on Halloween,” said Scarey. “And I’m afraid I’m not very good at that either. And if I can’t even be scary one day a year, why, they might take me down.”

“That would be the end of old Scarey, wouldn’t it?” Crow said.

“And they might get something else to keep crows away,” said Scarey. “Like guns or poison.”

“Listen to me, Scarey,” said Crow. “I swear on the good name of my grandfather Crow, sweet Granny Crow, and all the rest, that I will help you be a scary Scarey for Halloween.”

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