Off went Shamus again, this time to the forest, where he found the King sitting under an oak tree.
"What do you here?" said the King, and Shamus told him.
"I'll not part with the bird," said the King, "although I'm a bit tired of his song. It's too sweet," said he, "and I prefer the cawing of crows and the croaking of ravens. However, it is much admired by others, and therefore I shall keep him."
He ordered the bird to be brought and bade it sing, which it did most beautifully.
"His high notes are a bit hoarse to-day," said the King. "I've heard him do better."
The bird cast him a murderous glance, and Shamus, who was a singer himself, felt sore at heart that a good song should receive so little praise. However, he kept his thoughts to himself, which he had found a good practice when dealing with kings.
Also, he stayed to supper with the King and afterwards sang and played, the King every now and then breaking in with a word to say how it should be done.
"You do not badly for a beginner," said he when Shamus had finished.
Shamus could have slain him where he stood for those ungracious words, but he bided his time, pretending to be well-pleased.
When all were asleep that night, Shamus slipped from his bed and went into the woods where he began to play softly his song of the wind in the trees. Louder and louder he played, and sure enough, the blackbird soon came and perched on a tree near by. When he had done, the bird said, "It is a pleasure to hear a song well-played."