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THE STORKS
ON the last house in a little village a pair of storks had built their nest. Mother Stork sat in it with her four little young ones, who stretched out their heads and their little black beaks, for they had not yet become red. A little way off on the ridge of the roof stood Father Stork, erect and stiff; he had drawn up one of his legs, in order to show he was putting himself to some inconvenience in standing as sentry. One would think he was carved out of wood, so still did he stand. "I think it must look quite grand for my wife to have a sentry by her nest," thought he; "they can't know that I am her husband; they must think I have been ordered to stand here. It looks quite grand." And so he continued to stand on one leg.
In the street below a lot of children were playing about, and when they saw the storks one of the boldest of the boys began to sing the old verse about the stork, and afterward all the others joined in, but they sang it just as he could remember it:
"Storkey, storkey, sty oh!
Swiftly homeward fly, oh!
For your wife lies safe at rest,
With four fledglings in the nest:
The first, he shall be hanged!
The second shall be spitted through!
The third, he shall be roasted brown!
The fourth shall be turned upside down!"
"Just listen to what those boys are singing," said the young storks; "they say we shall be hanged and roasted."
"Never mind what they are singing," said Mother Stork; "don't listen to them, and then it won't matter."
But the boys went on singing, and pointed their fingers at the storks. Only one of the boys, whose name was Peter, said it was a shame to make fun of the birds, and would not join in with the others. Mother Stork comforted her young ones and said: "Don't mind them! Just look how quietly your father takes it, standing there on one leg."
"We are so frightened!" said the young ones, and drew back their heads into the nest.
