THE BOY WHO KNEW WHAT THE BIRDS SAID
"No," said the Peacock as he mounted the steps of the terrace. "No. Certainly not. I do not demean myself by listening to any of the stories they tell down below there." He spread out his tail, and, that he might view his own magnificence, he turned his blue, shining neck.
Hoodie the grey-headed Crow with the bright sharp eyes hopped after him.
"Jewels! Kings! Magicians! Palaces! Dragons!" What do geese, grouse and farmyard fowl know of such things? And yet they presume to tell stories! Tell stories that have nothing in them of Jewels, Kings, Magicians, Palaces, or Dragons!"
"Nothing at all about such things," said Hoodie the Crow, as he plucked a feather out of the Peacock's tail.
"Yet they will not listen to me," said Purpurpurati the Peacock. "They affect even to scorn my voice! They pretend that it is less resonant than the cock in the farmyard and less musical than the bird's that sings at night.
"They'd say anything," said Hoodie the Crow, keeping behind the Peacock's tail.
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