Little Crow found a silver button in the grass, and by nightfall the wind had already stolen it back. That was the third treasure lost in one day. Little Crow gathered shiny things for one reason: Grandmother Crow grew slow and weak, and Little Crow wanted her to have everything she would ever need. But a crow with no hiding place holds nothing for long. Little Crow perched on a fence rail and counted the day's losses. A glass bead had rolled down a hill. A coin had blown into a stream. A bottle cap sat in a pile of leaves until a squirrel snatched it. Every treasure ended up scattered, stolen, or gone. Grandmother Crow waited in her nest with nothing to show for all the flying. Little Crow needed a safe hollow. Somewhere the wind could not reach and thieves could not open. At dusk, Little Crow spotted a tree with a small house tucked in its branches. The little house had a red door and a railing around a wooden deck. It looked warm and quiet. Little Crow flew close and peered through a round window. Wide gaps ran under the eaves. Wind whistled straight through. A squirrel already nested in one corner. This place kept out nothing. Little Crow flew on, tired and low over the ground. Then something caught the last light. A small wooden building stood alone. It had thick plank walls, one shut window, and a heavy iron lock hanging on the door. Little Crow landed on the roof and looked it over. No gaps. No open corners. The lock meant no paw or beak could pull the door wide. But a locked door keeps everyone out, including a crow. Little Crow hopped down and studied the window. The glass sat firm in its frame. Little Crow pushed with both feet. Nothing moved. Then Little Crow noticed the top corner of the window. The wood had warped. A thin gap ran along the edge, just wide enough for a small body. Little Crow worked a wing tip into the gap and pried. The old frame creaked and gave. The window swung inward a crack. Little Crow squeezed through and dropped inside. Dust and shadow filled the little building. Shelves lined the walls. A dry corner sat far from the window, out of the wind, hidden behind the shut door. Little Crow tested it. No draft reached this spot. No squirrel could climb inside. The lock outside would hold the door shut against anything larger. Little Crow had found the safe hollow at last. At dawn, Little Crow flew back to Grandmother Crow's nest and gathered the few treasures that remained. One bright coin. One smooth blue bead. Little Crow carried them, one by one, through the warped window and set them in the dry corner. For the first time, nothing blew away. Nothing got snatched. But as Little Crow tucked the coin down, a voice sounded outside. Boots crunched toward the locked door. This building belonged to someone.