“You may have one wish—one wish!” sang out the witch from the tree.
“Oh! take away this dreadful thing,” sobbed Ella.
And before you could turn round it was gone. Then Mother Grindle began to sing again very cheerfully. But Ella was not cheerful—far from it.
“You may have one wish more—one wish more,” sang the witch.
But Ella has not made up her mind what to ask for yet. One cannot be too careful.
THE PELICAN
In the land of Egypt, where the Nile runs and the palm-trees grow and the great Sphynx sits alone in the Desert, there lived a young man who kept a jeweller’s shop in a crowded street. He was tall and grave, and he wore a yellow kaftan which clothed him from head to heel.
In the afternoon, when the street was full, he would sit in front of his shop looking at the people, and sometimes exchanging a word with the passers-by.
It chanced that, as he sat in his accustomed place one day, there passed a countryman carrying under his arm a young Pelican, which he had caught on the river. He held it very roughly, and a crowd of boys followed behind jeering at the strange, half-fledged creature, and sometimes pulling its tail or its legs and laughing when it opened its mouth in terror. Now the young man was angry that the bird should be so used, for he had read many books and thought many thoughts, and he knew that birds and beasts had feelings like other people. He pitied the poor frightened Pelican, and as one of the boys passed, he gave him a great cuff which nearly knocked him over.