Here the cook popped him into a pot of water and left him, and with the boy went out of the kitchen to attend to something else.
The water began to get warm and then hot. “Oh, Madame Water,” cried Coquerico, becoming all at once as meek as a dove, “good and gentle water, best and purest in the world, do not scald me, I beg of you.”
“Did you show any pity, selfish wretch?” answered the Water, boiling with indignation. Coquerico leaped out of the pot, knocking off the cover, only to land on the fire.
“Oh, Fire, Fire, do not burn me,” he cried, dancing around on his back; “oh, beautiful and brilliant flame, brother of the sun, and cousin of the shining diamond, do not roast me.”
“Did you have any pity, you selfish wretch?” cried the Fire, blazing so fiercely with anger that the chick in frightful pain leaped out of a window near by.
But as he landed on the flagging the Wind caught him and whirled him up. “Oh, Wind,” shrieked Coquerico, faintly, “oh, kindly Wind, oh, cooling breeze, you make me so dizzy my head reels. Pray let me down that I may rest.”
“Let you rest,” roared the Wind, “wait and I’ll teach you, you selfish wretch.”
And with one blast it sent him up so high that as he fell down he stuck on a steeple.
There, if you look, you may see him to this very day, forced at last to help others in this world, a weathervane.
—Spanish folk tale