The next was a fellow with a cart, or rather a wagon on two wheels. He had shafts to it and instead of a horse had fastened himself to them by a strap similar to a yoke which reached over his shoulders. He was twice the size of an ordinary man. The rolls of fat hung under his chin and across his stomach in great layers. He came along puffing and snorting and mopping the sweat from his brow. At the same time he seemed as happy as a lark, for he was whistling a light tune as merrily as could be.
He no sooner saw me than he lowered the cart on two props and disengaged himself from his harness. I was now so near that I saw that he had a kind of traveling show such as often stopped in our village in the early Spring. Only this fellow had no performing bear on a rope or a monkey or an acrobatic clown, but piled high on the cart, row after row, were small wooden cages. In each cage was a bird. Along the bottom were the parrots and then the further up they went the smaller the birds became until at the top sat perched the tiniest of wrens.
I was agog with curiosity. When I came within earshot the big fellow stepped out into the middle of the road. His smile spread the width of his broad face. He bowed to me from afar and then screwed his mouth into a knot and puffed out his cheeks. With such suddenness that it startled me he ran the gamut of a score of notes from the lowest to the highest, lingering now and then to warble and trill some of them in the most entrancing fashion.
At the first sound of the man’s whistling there was a flutter in all the cages. Before he had uttered half a dozen notes the birds began to sing. When he had no more breath and was forced to let off, they had reached a harmony that was truly surprising. The sounds rose higher and higher. It was like the early morning at home when I awoke but even more thrilling and delightful. Then, just as I approached, the fellow put his knuckle in his mouth. He blew one loud shrill blast. The birds in the next instant were as silent as the grave.
I could not help smiling. And the man himself was even more pleased than I. He stood in the road grinning like a great calf. His eyes sparkled. He was beaming with joy as though he had just performed a truly remarkable feat. He stuck his thumb under his arm and straightened himself up as proud as an emperor.
“Greetings, sir Traveler,” he cried, “from the King of the Birds.”
I drew in my horse. He took this as a sign that I was interested. He screwed up his mouth again and let out a short shrill note. Of a sudden, as though they had been waiting for it, every bird in the cages started once more to sing. They were soon at the highest point. The fellow had his head cocked on one side with his ear turned towards the cages like a music master trying to detect a false note. Then, as he did before, he put his knuckle in his mouth. He blew one quick blast and the sounds died away as quickly as though the birds had been stricken dead.
“Sir,” said the King of the Birds with a wave of his hand, “the parrot there can tell your fortune. He is like the owl, one of the wisest of birds.” To suit his action to his words he tapped the parrot on the head. He placed a box which held a number of pieces of parchment before it. The parrot bent over and with its beak tossed one of the small sheets out on the ground. The King pounced upon it and held it out before my astonished eyes.
“Unfold it, sir, and read it at your leisure,” said the man. “It may help you on your way.”
With that he bowed and stood rubbing his hands. I smiled of course at his simplicity. A sort of pity took hold of me. In bulk he was almost the size of an ox. Without doubt he was as poor as any of his birds. He was dependent for all that he got upon his ability to amuse those who fell across his path. Yet, with all that, the seriousness of the world had no resting place upon his shoulders. In his own province he was, as he claimed, as absolute as a king, and to my way of thinking far happier than any of whom I have ever heard.