As soon as the washing was done he put the pieces into a frying-pan and began to fry them, and all the time they cried out, “The king is doing the work of a cook, but he is not so honest!”
After the pieces were fried, the king ate them, but even that did not silence the wronged thrush. She continually shouted: “I am inside of the king. It is just like the inside of any other man, only not so honest!”
The king was like a walking musical box, and he did not like it, but it was his own fault. No matter where he went, everyone heard the cries of the thrush proclaiming that she was inside of the king, and that his inside was just like that of other men, only not so honest. This caused a good deal of gossip among the king’s subjects and resulted in his being universally despised. At last he could stand it no longer. He sent for his doctor and said the talking bird must be removed.
“That cannot be done without causing your death,” said the doctor.
“It will cause my death if it is not done,” declared the king, “for I cannot endure being made a fool of.”
So the doctor had to remove the thrush, and, strange to say, the pieces had united, and as soon as the bird was released she flew away. Her beautiful clothes were all gone, but she did not regret that. She was quite content in future to use cotton only to make a soft lining for her nest, and never again had a desire to ape the ways of mankind.
As for the king, he died; and it was a good riddance. His son reigned in his stead, and he remembered his father’s miserable death and kept all his promises to men and beasts and birds.
THE BEWITCHED BOTTLES
IN the good old days, when the fairies were more frequently seen than in these unbelieving times, a farmer named Mick Purcell rented a few acres of barren ground in southern Ireland, about three miles from Mallow, and twelve from the city of Cork. Mick had a wife and children, and they helped him all they could. That, however, was very little; for none of the children were big enough to do much work, and his wife was kept busy taking care of them, and milking the cow, boiling the potatoes, and carrying the eggs to market. So, though Mick was never idle from morn till night, it was by no means easy for them to make a living. Yet by hook or by crook they contrived to get along until there came a bad year. The oats were all spoiled that season, the chickens died of the pip, and the pig got the measles so that when it was sold it brought almost nothing.