“Brother! brother, do not run, it is I,” exclaimed the lad.
He stopped and both returned to the monk. All three, taking the Fairy Nightingale, went toward their father’s city. On the way they were thirsty, and came to a well.
They lowered the youngest brother to draw water, and as soon as he reached the bottom of the well, the two older brothers said to one another:
“When we go home to our father all praise and glory will be given to that fellow who is now in the well, and we shall be despised. It shall not be; he shall never come up from that well.”
They cut the rope, and leaving the hero in the well, took the Nightingale and went to their father, saying:
“Our youngest brother was killed in our attempt to get the Fairy Nightingale, but we two succeeded in bringing it.”
They hung the cage in the new church, but the Fairy Nightingale did not warble a single song; it was sad and silent. Soon the Fairy Queen came riding to the King, and said:
“Who is the hero that has brought my Nightingale?”
“We brought it,” said the two brothers.
“Well, what did you meet on the way?” inquired the Queen.