“Where is my little sparrow?” asked he.
“It pecked at my starching-paste,” answered the little old woman, “so I cut its evil tongue and let it fly away.”
“Alas! Alas!” cried the little old man. “Poor thing! Poor thing! Poor little tongue-cut sparrow! Where is your home now?”
And then he wandered far and wide seeking his pet and crying:—
“Mr. Sparrow, Mr. Sparrow, where are you living?”
And he wandered on and on, over mountain and valley, and dale and river, until one day at the foot of a certain mountain he met the lost bird. The little old man was filled with joy and the sparrow welcomed him with its sweetest song.
It led the little old man to its nest-house, introduced him to its wife and small sparrows, and set before him all sorts of good things to eat and drink.
“Please partake of our humble fare,” sang the sparrow; “poor as it is, you are welcome.”
“What a polite sparrow,” answered the little old man, and he stayed for a long time as the bird's guest. At last one day the little old man said that he must take his leave and return home.
“Wait a bit,” said the sparrow.