And he said, “The joy of scaring is a deep and lasting one, and I
never tire of it.”
Said I, after a minute of thought, “It is true; for I too have
known that joy.”
Said he, “Only those who are stuffed with straw can know it.”
Then I left him, not knowing whether he had complimented or belittled me.
A year passed, during which the scarecrow turned philosopher.
And when I passed by him again I saw two crows building a nest
under his hat.