“Come and sit in the shade,” she said, when I asked her what had become of the hen, “and I will tell you all about her. She is seeking Furicchia, whom she served so well, not knowing that she is a shadow too.”
“Furicchia,” said the Fairy Godmother, “was a very poor woman who owned a hen which an innkeeper greatly coveted. The shape of the bird was perfect; it had a most melodious voice, and its feathers were glossy and white as snow.
‘Come now, good dame,’ the man cried, persuasively, ‘I will give you double the market value of your little hen, for I wish to make a present of her to the widow Ursula, whom I intend to espouse.’
‘But the widow might kill and eat her!’ said Furicchia, looking lovingly at the little hen, which she had brought up by hand from a tiny chick. It had slept beneath her best silk ’kerchief, and taken its food from her lips.
‘That is as may be,’ he replied. ‘Come, Furicchia, I make you a handsome offer. Give me the hen, and you shall fare well next feast day.’
But Furicchia would not listen, in spite of the sad fact that her cupboard was as empty as her netted purse. The little hen was dear to her, though as yet it had lain no eggs, and she would not sacrifice her to her needs.
Ere evening came, Coccodé was clucking gaily under the kitchen table, and Furicchia found, not one egg, but three, all a rich coffee brown, and polished like porcelain. Having joyfully exchanged one with a neighbour for a dish of broth, she broke the second into it, and prudently saving the third for next day, thankfully made a good meal. When morning came, she found eggs to the number of a round dozen strewn about her tiny room, and from being almost on the verge of starvation, she had plenty now and to spare. For Coccodé, the grateful creature, laid eggs by the score, and not only were they of exquisite flavour and very large, but it was noticed that if sick folk ate them, they straightway returned to health.