The King walked up the street, looking gloomy enough, and soon came across a gardener with his rake, uncovering the crocuses and the daffodils.
"Why do you do this, my good man? Surely your flowers will freeze. You had much better be covering them up."
"Oh, no," he said, straightening his bent back, "spring is coming."
"Spring," said the King; "how do you know?"
"Oh," said the gardener, with a grin, and a twinkle in his left eye, as he caught sight of a bluebird peeking half-scared around the limb of a near-by apple tree, "a little bird told me."
Then the disgraceful story all came out: that
The robin pipped, and the bluebird blew;
The sparrow chipped, and the swallow, too:
"We know something,—we won't tell,—
Somebody's coming,—you know well.
This is his name ('twixt you and me),
S-P-R-I-N-G."
My! but wasn't the Earth King disgusted! And weren't the bird-messengers ashamed to come when he sternly called them! Each laid his little pointed nose on his little scratchy toes, and dropped his eyes and uttered never a word.
"Silly birds," he said in scornful voice. "You vowed to keep my secrets. You have broken your vow. You obeyed my commands and called the south wind and the sunshine; so I cannot be too harsh with you. But you cannot keep my secrets, so I cannot keep you as my messengers. Now and then I may use you as my servants. Adieu!"
Then the birds flew sadly away as quietly and quickly as ever they could, and set to work building their nests in holes in the trees and holes in the ground and in out-of-the-way places, making such a chattering meantime that neither they, nor any one else, could hear themselves think.