Baked within a pie.”
“What’s that?” cried Old King Cole. “Twenty-four blackbirds baked in my pie! Why, how did that happen?”
“It was this way,” said the cook. “You told me to give you pie to-day. Well, I made all ready for it, but, at the last minute, I had nothing to put in the pie—no apples, no cherries, no peaches—nothing at all. I did not know what to do, but, all of a sudden, I looked out of the window, and I saw two dozen blackbirds flying along. ‘The very thing!’ said I to myself. ‘They’ll do for Old King Cole’s pie!’ I asked them if they would mind getting in between the upper and lower pie crusts, and they said no.”
“And did they?” asked the king, putting his crown on sideways.
“They did,” answered the cook. “Look!” and he sang:
“When the pie was opened,
The birds began to sing.
Wasn’t that a dainty dish
To set before the king?”
Then, taking care not to hurt the feathered singers, the cook cut open the pie. Surely enough, out flew the blackbirds, singing as sweetly as one could wish. Around and around the palace they flew, singing, and Uncle Wiggily cried: