As Buster sat on the sprig of wild honeysuckle, wondering where to look for a bit of cotton with which to stuff his ears, a bird fluttered down and perched upon the old stone wall to which the honeysuckle clung. The name of the newcomer was Jasper Jay. And Buster Bumblebee was glad to see him, because he wanted help from somebody and he didn't care who it was.

"Where could a person get a small piece of cotton?" he asked Jasper Jay.

And Jasper—who would gladly have made a lunch of Buster, had he not been afraid of getting stung—Jasper promptly replied with another question:

"What do you intend to do with cotton?" He was a very curious fellow, this Jasper Jay.

Buster Bumblebee had no objection to explaining everything to him. And then—and only then—was Jasper willing to tell what he knew.

"Cotton—" said he—"cotton grows in fields. I know that much. And what's more, I know it doesn't grow in Pleasant Valley, for I live here the whole year round and I've never seen any."

That was bad news for Buster.

"What do you advise me to do?" he inquired anxiously.

"Ask my cousin, Mr. Crow," said Jasper Jay instantly. "He's a great traveller. Spends his winters in the South, he does. And no doubt he can help you."

"Where can I find Mr. Crow?" Buster Bumblebee asked.

"I don't know of any better place to look than the cornfield," Jasper Jay told him.

Luckily Buster knew where the cornfield was. So he started off at once to find Mr. Crow.

And sure enough! as soon as Buster reached the edge of the cornfield, there was the old gentleman, sitting on the topmost rail of the fence and looking as if he had just enjoyed an excellent meal.

As soon as he saw that Buster Bumblebee wanted to talk with him, old Mr. Crow was willing enough to listen, for he always liked to know about other people's affairs. He kept nodding his head with a wise air while Buster explained to him how he wished to find some cotton, with which to stuff his ears every night, so that he might not be disturbed when the trumpeter aroused the household at three or four o'clock each morning.

"That's a splendid plan," said old Mr. Crow when Buster had finished. "An excellent plan—but you may as well forget it, because there's no cotton growing in these parts. Cotton grows in the South, more than a thousand miles away. Next winter when I go to the South I might be able to find some for you, and bring it back with me in the spring. But that wouldn't help you now."

Buster Bumblebee was quite discouraged. And since he didn't know what to do, he asked Mr. Crow what he would suggest.

"Why don't you set back the hands of the family clock?" the old gentleman asked. "If you make the clock three or four hours slow the trumpeter won't trumpet until six or seven or eight o'clock. And I'm sure that's late enough for anybody to get up."

Buster shook his head mournfully.

"We haven't any clock at our house," he explained.

"Then——" said old Mr. Crow, "then, if you want more sleep why don't you go to bed earlier? If you went to bed three or four hours before sunset you wouldn't mind getting up at dawn."

"Hurrah!" Buster shouted. "That's just what I'll do! And I'm certainly much obliged to you, Mr. Crow, for helping me."

"Don't mention it," said the old gentleman, looking greatly pleased with himself.

"I won't tell anybody," Buster promised.

"Oh, I didn't mean that, exactly," Mr. Crow told him hastily. "If you want to inform your friends how clever I am, I have no objection, of course."

Then Buster went off, thinking what a kind person old Mr. Crow was. And that very afternoon, long before sunset, he curled himself up in an out-of-the-way corner of the house and went to sleep. Everybody was so busy hurrying in and out in order to finish the day's work that no one noticed or disturbed him. And when the trumpeter sounded the rising call the next morning Buster Bumblebee was actually the first one in the house to open his eyes and jump up and hasten out to get his breakfast.

All of which only went to prove that old Mr. Crow knew a thing or two—and maybe even more.