The Fairy Book Part 39

"My mother, she killed me; My father, he ate me; My sister, little Margery, Gathered up all my bones, Tied them in a silk handkerchief, And laid them under the Juniper-tree: Kywitt! Kywitt! what a beautiful bird am I!"

The goldsmith sat in his workshop, making a gold chain, but he heard the bird, which sat on his roof, and sang, and he thought it very beautiful. He stood up, and as he went over the door-step he lost one slipper. But he went right into the middle of the street, with one slipper and one sock on; he had on his leather ap.r.o.n; in one hand he carried the gold chain, and in the other the pincers, while the sun shone brightly up the street. There he stood, and looked at the bird.

"Bird," said he, "how beautiful you can sing! Sing me that song again."

"No," said the bird, "I do not sing twice for nothing. Give me that gold chain, and I will sing it again."

"There," said the goldsmith; "you shall have the gold chain--now sing me that song once more."

Then the bird came and took the gold chain in his right claw, and went and sat before the goldsmith, and sang--

"My mother, she killed me; My father, he ate me; My sister, little Margery, Gathered up all my bones, Tied them in a silk handkerchief, And laid them under the Juniper-tree: Kywitt! Kywitt! what a beautiful bird am I!"

Afterwards he flew away to a shoemaker's, and set himself on his roof, and sang--

"My mother, she killed me; My father, he ate me; My sister, little Margery, Gathered up all my bones, Tied them in a silk handkerchief, And laid them under the Juniper-tree: Kywitt! Kywitt! what a beautiful bird am I!"

When the shoemaker heard it, he ran out of his door in his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, looked towards his roof, and had to hold his hand over his eyes, so that the sun should not dazzle him.

"Bird," said he, "how beautifully you can sing!" And he called in at his door, "Wife, just come out; there is a bird here which can sing so beautifully." Then he called his daughter and his workpeople, both boys and girls; they all came into the street, looked at the bird, and saw how handsome he was; for he had bright red and green feathers, and his neck shone like real gold, and his eyes twinkled in his head like stars.

"Bird," said the shoemaker, "now sing me that song again."

"No," replied the bird, "I do not sing twice for nothing; you must give me something."

"Wife," said the man, "go to the garret: on the highest shelf there stands a pair of red shoes--bring them here."

The wife went and fetched the shoes.

"There," said the man, "now sing me that song again."

Then the bird came and took the shoes in his left claw and flew back on the roof, and sang--

"My mother, she killed me; My father, he ate me; My sister, little Margery, Gathered up all my bones, Tied them in a silk handkerchief, And laid them under the Juniper-tree: Kywitt! Kywitt! what a beautiful bird am I!"

And when he had finished, he flew away, with the chain in his right claw and the shoes in his left. He flew far away to a mill, and the mill went "Clipper, clapper, clipper, clapper, clipper, clapper." And in the mill there sat twenty millers, who chopped a stone, and chopped, "Hick, hack, hick, hack, hick, hack;" and the mill went, "Clipper, clapper, clipper, clapper, clipper, clapper."

The bird flew up, and sat in a lime-tree that grew before the mill, and sang--

"My mother, she killed me;"

then one man stopped;

"My father, he ate me;"

then two more stopped and listened;

"My sister, little Margery,"

then four more stopped;

"Gathered up all my bones, Tied them in a silk handkerchief,"

now only eight more were chopping,

"Laid them under"

now only five,

"the Juniper-tree."

now only one.

"Kywitt! Kywitt! what a beautiful bird am I!"

Then the last man stopped too, and heard the last word.

"Bird," said he, "how beautifully you sing! Please to sing me that song once more."

"No," answered the bird, "I do not sing twice for nothing; give me the millstone, and I will sing it again."

"Yes," said he, "if it belonged to me only, you should have it."

"Yes," cried all the others, "if he sings it again, he shall have it."

Then the bird came down, and all the twenty millers took poles, and lifted the stone up. The bird stuck his neck through the hole in the millstone, and put it on like a collar, and flew back to the tree, and sang--

"My mother, she killed me; My father, he ate me; My sister, little Margery, Gathered up all my bones, Tied them in a silk handkerchief, And laid them under the Juniper-tree: Kywitt! Kywitt! what a beautiful bird am I!"

And when he had done singing, he opened his wings, and though he had in his right claw the chain, in his left the shoes, and round his neck the millstone, he flew far away to his father's house.

In the room sat the father, the mother, and little Margery at dinner; and the father said, "Oh, how happy I am! altogether joyful."

"For me," said the mother, "I feel quite frightened, as if a dreadful storm was coming."

But Margery sat, and cried and cried.

Then there came the bird flying, and as he perched himself on the roof, "Oh," said the father, "I feel so happy, and the sun s.h.i.+nes out of doors so beautifully! It is just as if I were going to see an old friend.

"No," said the wife; "I am so frightened, my teeth chatter, and it feels as if there was a fire in my veins;" and she tore open her dress. But Margery sat in a corner, and cried, holding her ap.r.o.n before her eyes, till the ap.r.o.n was quite wet through.

The bird perched upon the Juniper-tree, and sang--

"My mother, she killed me;"

Then the mother stopped up her ears, and shut her eyes tight, and did not want to see or hear; but there was a roaring in her ears like the loudest thunder, and her eyes burned and flashed like lightning--

"My father, he ate me;"