'Why, didn't you see that they took away the grindstone that he had worked so hard for, and then thrashed him for nothing besides?'

Scarlet-Comb was still a very young cock; his grand tail-feathers had not yet grown, so he did not know how cruel and unjust people can be. His mother's words showed him this for the first time. He spread his wings and craned his little neck as if he would shout out what he had just heard to all the world; but a spasm in the throat prevented him from uttering a sound. When, however, his first burst of grief and indignation had somewhat abated, he again appealed to his mother.

'Well, and what will happen now, mother?'

'What? Why, nothing. Pan Podliásski will have the grindstone, and our poor master will have his bruises—that's all.'

'What! And no one will stand up for the right?'

'Oh, my child, how recklessly you talk!' hurriedly whispered the old hen. 'Supposing any one should overhear you, what then? Why, they would think you a rebel!... What is the use of talking about "right" and "standing up" when Pan Podliásski is a great lord, with fifty horses in his stables, and hundreds of servants at his bidding, while our master is a poor peasant, wearing himself out with work!'

'Well, then, I will take our master's part! I will get justice done!' cried Scarlet-Comb.

'Hush, you silly child!' answered his mother more anxiously than ever, and gently seizing his comb with her bill. 'What else do you imagine you can do? You would like to set the whole world to rights, no doubt!'

'The thing is impossible!' cried Scarlet-Comb, and turning to the old cock, he added: 'Am I not right, father?'

The old cock majestically raised his head, stood on tiptoe, flapped his wings, and shouted at the top of his voice: 'Cock-a-doodle-doo-oo!...' then stooped down, and betook himself, with a hurried business walk, to the other end of the yard, where he stopped beside a squashed worm. Every one could interpret his expression of opinion according to their personal taste: the mother was convinced that he was setting their son an example of thrift and good sense; the son, that the patriarch's martial air and cry were intended to spur him on to prowess. Without any further question Scarlet-Comb flew across the fence, and made straight for the castle of Pan Podliásski.