ONCE there was a thrush who lived in a tree on the borders of a field that a man sowed to cotton seed. The seed sprouted up through the ground and grew into bushes, and after a time the bushes had big, brown pods on them. Presently the pods burst open and the fluffy white cotton bulged out of them. “How nice and soft that cotton looks!” said the thrush.
She picked some of it and used it to line her nest. Never before had she slept with such ease as she did on that bed of cotton.
In her flights about the region she often passed the door of a man who made a business of carding cotton so it could be spun into thread. By carding it he disentangled the fibers, and then he formed it into small rolls and sold it to the spinners. The thrush often observed him at his work, and at length she concluded that she, also, would make some use of the cotton besides simply lining her nest with it. So again and again, every day, she would fly down among the cotton bushes, pluck out a fluff of cotton in her beak and fly away and hide it. She kept on doing this till she had quite a large heap. Then she flew to the house of the cotton-carder, and alighted in front of him. “Good day, man,” said she.
“Good day, little bird,” said the cotton-carder.
“Man,” said the thrush, “I have a heap of beautiful cotton; and you shall have half of it if you will card the rest and make it into rolls for me.”
“Very well,” said the man, “I will do as you desire. Where is your cotton?”
“Come with me, and I will show you,” said the thrush.
So she flew along ahead of the man and guided him to the place where she had hidden her hoard of cotton. The man took the cotton home and carded it and made it into rolls. Half of it he took for doing the work, and the rest he gave back to the thrush.
Not far from the carder lived a spinner, and the thrush went to him and said: “Mr. Spinner, I have some rolls of cotton all ready to spin into thread. If I give you half of them, will you spin the other half into thread for me?”
“That I will,” said the spinner, and the thrush showed him the way to where she had put the rolls.
In a few days the spinner had spun all the rolls into the finest thread. Then he took a pair of scales and weighed the thread to make two equal parts. Half he kept for himself, and the other half he gave to the thrush.
The next thing the thrush did was to fly to the house of a weaver, to whom she said: “Sir, I have some cotton thread all ready to weave into cloth. If I give you half of the thread, will you weave the other half into cloth for me?”
“Certainly,” said the weaver, and the thrush guided him to where she had secreted the thread.
He carried it home and spun it into cloth, and half the cloth he kept, and half he gave to the thrush. She was an ambitious bird, eager to convey an impression of distinction, and she decided to have some garments made for herself out of the cloth. So she went to a tailor, and said, “I have a nice piece of cotton cloth, and I will give you half of it if you will make the rest into clothes for me.”
The tailor was glad to do this, and the bird guided him to where she had hidden the cloth. He took it home, and at once set to work. Half of it sufficed to make a beautiful dress for the thrush. There was a skirt, and there was a jacket with sleeves in the latest pattern. A little of the cloth was left over, and the tailor used it to make a pretty hat for the thrush to put on her head.
Then she was indeed delighted, and felt there was little more to desire in the world. She put on her skirt, and her jacket with fashionable sleeves, and the little hat, and looked at her image in a woodland pool. What she saw pleased her greatly. In fact, she became so vain that nothing would do but she must show herself to the king.
So she flew and flew and flew until she came to the king’s palace. Right into the great hall she winged her way and perched on a peg that was high on the wall and began to sing. The king and the queen and all the courtiers were sitting down below. “Oh, look!” exclaimed the queen. “There is a thrush in a jacket and skirt and a pretty hat!”
Everybody looked at the thrush singing on her peg, and clapped their hands.
“Come here, little bird,” said the king, “and show the queen your pretty clothes.”
The thrush felt highly flattered, and flew down on the table, and took off her jacket to show the queen. After the queen had looked at it she folded it up and put it in her pocket.
“Give me my jacket,” twittered the thrush. “I shall catch cold, and besides, it is not proper for a lady to go about without a jacket.”
All the company laughed, and the king said, “You shall have your jacket, Mistress Thrush, if you will come nearer.”
She approached the king close enough so he was able to make a sudden grab and catch her.
“Let me go,” squeaked the thrush, struggling to get free. But the king would not release her.
“Greedy king!” cried the thrush, “you ought to be ashamed to covet my little jacket!”
That made the king angry, and he took a carving knife and chopped her to little bits. While he was doing so the thrush kept exclaiming, “The king snips and cuts like a tailor, but he is not so honest!”
When the king had finished chopping her up, he began to wash the pieces, and each piece as he washed it called out, “The king scours and scrubs like a washerwoman, but he is not so honest!”
As soon as the washing was done he put the pieces into a frying-pan and began to fry them, and all the time they cried out, “The king is doing the work of a cook, but he is not so honest!”
After the pieces were fried, the king ate them, but even that did not silence the wronged thrush. She continually shouted: “I am inside of the king. It is just like the inside of any other man, only not so honest!”
The king was like a walking musical box, and he did not like it, but it was his own fault. No matter where he went, everyone heard the cries of the thrush proclaiming that she was inside of the king, and that his inside was just like that of other men, only not so honest. This caused a good deal of gossip among the king’s subjects and resulted in his being universally despised. At last he could stand it no longer. He sent for his doctor and said the talking bird must be removed.
“That cannot be done without causing your death,” said the doctor.
“It will cause my death if it is not done,” declared the king, “for I cannot endure being made a fool of.”
So the doctor had to remove the thrush, and, strange to say, the pieces had united, and as soon as the bird was released she flew away. Her beautiful clothes were all gone, but she did not regret that. She was quite content in future to use cotton only to make a soft lining for her nest, and never again had a desire to ape the ways of mankind.
As for the king, he died; and it was a good riddance. His son reigned in his stead, and he remembered his father’s miserable death and kept all his promises to men and beasts and birds.
