The goldsmith was sitting in his shop making a golden chain, and when he heard the bird, who was sitting on his roof and singing, he started up to go and look, and as he passed over his threshold he lost one of his slippers; and he went into the middle of the street with a slipper on one foot and only a sock on the other; with his apron on, and the gold chain in one hand and the pincers in the other; and so he stood in the sunshine looking up at the bird.
"Bird," said he, "how beautifully you sing; do sing that piece over again."
"No," said the bird, "I do not sing for nothing twice; if you will give me that gold chain I will sing again."
"Very well," said the goldsmith, "here is the gold chain; now do as you said."
Down came the bird and took the gold chain in his right claw, perched in front of the goldsmith, and sang,
"It was my mother who murdered me,
It was my father who ate of me;
It was my sister Marjory
Who all my bones in pieces found;
Them in a handkerchief she bound,
And laid them under the almond tree.
Kywitt, kywitt, kywitt, I cry,
Oh what a beautiful bird am I!"
Then the bird flew to a shoemaker's, and perched on his roof, and sang,
"It was my mother who murdered me;
It was my father who ate of me;
It was my sister Marjory
Who all my bones in pieces found;
Them in a handkerchief she bound,
And laid them under the almond tree.
Kywitt, kywitt, kywitt, I cry,
Oh what a beautiful bird am I!"
When the shoemaker heard, he ran out of his door in his shirt sleeves and looked up at the roof of his house, holding his hand to shade his eyes from the sun.
"Bird," said he, "how beautifully you sing!"
Then he called in at his door,
