"Dear Little Scarecrow," said the Wind to him, "in this world we all have need of one another. Approach and behold me. Do you see to what a condition the heat of Summer has reduced me—me who am so strong and so powerful; who raise up the waves, who lay low the fields, whose force nothing can resist? This sultry day has killed me. I fell asleep, intoxicated with the fragrance of the flowers that I was playing with, and here I am now completely exhausted. If you would only raise me a couple of inches from the ground and fan me with your wing, that would give me strength enough to fly, and to go to my cavern where my mother and my sisters, the Storms, are busy mending some old clouds which I tore to pieces. There they will give me some soup, and I shall gather new strength."
"Cavalier," responded the perverse chicken, "many a time you have diverted yourself with me, pushing me from behind, and spreading my tail out like a fan, for every one who saw me to laugh at me. No, friend, to every pig comes his St. Martin's day, and so good-by to you for the present, Sir Harlequin." So saying, he crowed thrice in a clear voice and strutted haughtily away.
In the middle of a field covered with stubble, to which the harvesters had set fire, a column of smoke was rising. Little Scarecrow drew near, and saw a tiny spark which was fast dying out among the ashes.
"Beloved Little Scarecrow," said the Spark, when it saw him, "you have come just in time to save my life. For want of nourishment, I am at the point of death. I don't know where my cousin, the Wind, who always helps me in these straits, can have hidden himself. Bring me a few straws to revive me."
"What have I to do with your affairs?" answered the chicken. "Die if you wish. For my part, I have no need of you."
"Who knows but you may yet have need of me," responded the Spark. "No one can tell what he may one day be brought to."
"Hello!" said the perverse animal. "So you are still haranguing. Take that, then." And so saying, he covered the Spark with ashes; after which he began to crow, according to his custom, as if he had just performed some great exploit.
Little Scarecrow arrived at the capital, and passing by a church, which he was told was St. Peter's, he stood still before the door, and there crowed himself hoarse, solely for the purpose of enraging the saint, and having the pleasure of disobeying his mother.
As he approached the palace, which he desired to enter to see the King and the Queen, the sentinel cried out to him, "Back!" He then went to the rear of the palace, and entering by a back door, saw a very large apartment where a great many people were coming in and going out. He asked who they were, and was told that they were his Majesty's cooks. Instead of running away, as his mother had warned him to do, he went in with crest and tail erect; but one of the scullions caught him on the instant and wrung his neck in the twinkling of an eye.
"Bring some water here and let us pluck this scarecrow," said the scullion.