But the minister, named Devajnanin, whispered in the king’s ear: “How can a man possess such knowledge unattainable by men without having studied the books of magic? You may be certain that this is a specimen of the way he makes a dishonest livelihood, by having a secret intelligence with thieves. It will be much better to test him by some new artifice.” Then the king of his own accord brought a covered pitcher into which he had thrown a frog, and said to Harisarman: “Brahman, if you can guess what there is in this pitcher, I will do you great honor to-day.” When the Brahman Harisarman heard that, he thought that his last hour had come, and he called to mind the pet name of “Froggie,” which his father had given him in his childhood in sport; and, impelled by luck, he called to himself by his pet name, lamenting his hard fate, and suddenly called out: “This is a fine pitcher for you, Froggie; it will soon become the swift destroyer of your helpless self.” The people there, when they heard him say that, raised a shout of applause, because his speech chimed in so well with the object presented to him, and murmured: “Ah! a great sage; he knows even about the frog!” Then the king, thinking that this was all due to knowledge of divination, was highly delighted, and gave Harisarman the revenue of more villages, with gold, an umbrella, and state carriages of all kinds. So Harisarman prospered in the world.
It Is Quite True
“What a dreadful story!” exclaimed a hen; “it so frightened me that I did not dare to sleep alone in the hen-house all night. I was glad there were so many of us.” And she began to relate to the other hens who were on the roosting-perch above, the story she had heard, till their feathers stood on end, and even the cock let his comb droop, it was so dreadful.
But we will begin at the beginning, and discover what really had happened in the hen-house on the other side of the town.
One evening just before sunset the hens as usual went early to roost, and among them was a pretty hen with white feathers and short legs, who laid regularly such fine eggs that she was very valuable, and much esteemed by all her relations.
As this hen was flying up in the hen-house to the roosting-perch, she either pecked or scratched herself with her beak till one of her feathers fell off.
“There goes another,” she said good humoredly; “how beautiful I shall look if one falls off every time I scratch myself.” This white hen was not only very much esteemed, but also the merriest of all the hens in the hen-house.
But she forgot all about the fallen feather, and was soon asleep.
It became quite dark. The hens were seated side by side near each other on the perch, but one of them could not sleep, for she had partly heard what the white hen said.
The wakeful hen stayed and thought, and then said to her next neighbor: “Have you heard? I name no one, but a hen has plucked out all her feathers, and is not fit to be seen. If I were the cock, I should despise her.”