"While I was thus engaged, I heard a voice and looked up. It was the voice of the monk, saying, 'Hast thou accomplished all thy task?'
"I trembled and made no reply.
"'Thou hast tried, I see, but hast not succeeded in gathering all. But give me what thou hast!' he said.
"I heaped upon the ground all that I had gathered, just as if it had been precious gold.
"'There are still five drops of blood and one feather missing,' said the monk slowly, and a tear ran down his cheek.
"'Oh, monk,' I cried, 'help me; I shall find them for you!'
"'No, no, my son; I shall give some of my own.'
"To my great astonishment, he cut his arm and let five tiny little drops of blood trickle down upon the pile of earth. Then he lifted his hand to his head, as if to extract a hair. Recognizing what he was about to do, I pulled a bunch of hair out of my own head, and threw it down. The monk smiled. Putting his hand beneath his cape, he drew out the white crow. He placed the crow upon the pile and clapped his hands. In a second, the crow—yes, the same old crow—hopped up and sat on the monk's shoulder. Children, I was so pleased to see that crow, that I cried and begged to be allowed to go with the monk, but he waved me off and walked away."
"Oh, peddler," exclaimed Betty. "Did that really happen in these woods?"