An eagle who was passing by saw them and felt very sorry:
“I am called the king of the birds,” said he, “and I should be unworthy of the name if I would not help.” So he flew to the top of the mountain where the giants lived.
Now, the giants like to fight better than anything else, so the eagle watched his chance and saw them preparing for war. He knew that they were proud of their size and always liked to be seen.
“Now,” said the eagle, “this is my chance; they will not wear the magic cap in battle, and I will watch and see where they hide it.”
One of the giants placed it under a stone. The eagle went at once to the spot, and lifting the stone, flew away with the cap. The giants seeing this began to shoot arrows at him. Drops of blood and some feathers fell on the mountain side, but the eagle did not stop until the cap was safe in the hands of the queen of the fairies.
On the mountain side wherever the blood and feathers of the eagle fell, there sprang up trees with feathers like leaves and blood-red berries. All the giants, fairies, plants, and animals knew why they grew. The unselfish love in the eagle’s blood could not die, but lived again in the beautiful trees. But people to whom the fairies have not told the story call them Mountain Ash trees.
SAM DAVIS
Sometimes it is one’s duty to sacrifice his life rather than abandon his promised word.