The Nightingale

“Have you seen my dog this morning, Mr. Smith?”

“Seen him!I should think I have. He came in here, stole a leg of pork, bit me in the foot, then tripped a customer into a crate of eggs.”

“Did he really? Well, I wonder if you would mind putting this “Lost’ notice in your window.”

 

At last they came to the wood where the Nightingale was. “Hush!” said the little girl, “she is going to sing.” And sure enough, the little Nightingale began to sing. She sang so beautifully that you have never in all your life hear anything like it.

“Dear, dear,” said the courtiers, “that is very pleasant; does that little gray bird really make all that noise? She is so pale that I think she has lost her color for fear of us.”

The Chamberlain asked the little Nightingale to come and sing for the Emperor. The little Nightingale said she could sing better in her own greenwood, but she was so sweet and kind that she came with them.

That evening the palace was all trimmed with the most beautiful flowers you can imagine, and rows and rows of little silver bells, that tinkled when the wind blew in, and hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of wax candles, that shone like tiny stars. In the great hall there was a gold perch for the Nightingale, beside the Emperor’s throne.