"Have you made your will?" cried the white king, fiercely. "Are you prepared for a watery grave?"
"As to my will," replied the dark king, "there'll be plenty of time to think about that when you're dead. As to the watery grave, I'm quite ready for it, as soon as I meet any one who has the strength and courage to send me there. It won't be you."
"You may imagine yourself dead already," roared the white king. "Your body will go floating down the mill-stream, and there won't be a feather of you left together an hour after this—the frogs and fish will eat you."
"come on and fight if you dare."
"Fish and frogs!" cried King Crève, "fiddlesticks! Come on and fight if you dare. I'll give you leave to strike the first blow."
Then the white cock grew very sentimental.
"I don't really want to kill you," he said; "it seems a pity."
"Can nought but blood our feud atone, Are there no means?" "No, stranger, none!"
"Now just look here," said the dark king. "What are you talking about? If you mean to fight—fight. If you don't mean to fight—go over the fence again."