"O, little white hen, where are you going?" the fire asked.
"Quirrichi, quirrichi, I am going to the royal palace to carry a letter to the king," replied the little white hen.
"O, little white hen, may I go with you?" asked the fire. "I have never been to the royal palace and I have never had even a peep at the king."
The little white hen told the fire that he might go with her and asked him to climb into the little brown basket. By this time the little brown basket was so full, that, try as they might, they couldn't make room for the fire. At last they thought of a plan. The fire changed himself into ashes and then there was room for him to get into the basket.
The little white hen journeyed on and on, and finally she arrived at the royal palace.
"Who are you and what are you carrying in your little brown basket?" asked the royal doorkeeper when he opened the door.
"I am the little white hen and I am carrying a letter to the king," replied the little white hen. She didn't say a word about the fox and the river and the fire which she had in her little brown basket. She was so frightened before the great royal doorkeeper of the palace that she could hardly find her voice at all.
The royal doorkeeper invited the little white hen to enter the palace and he led her to the royal throne where the king was sitting. The little white hen bowed very low before the king—so low, in fact, that it mussed up all her feathers.
"Who are you and what is your business?" asked the king in his big, deep, kingly voice.
"Quirrichi, quirrichi, I am the little white hen," replied the little white hen in her low, frightened, little voice. "I have come to bring my letter to your royal majesty." She handed the king the piece of paper which had remained all this time at the bottom of the little brown basket. There were marks of dirt upon it where the friendly fox's feet had rested. It was damp where the river had lain. It had tiny holes in it where the fire had sat after he had turned himself into hot ashes.