Thanks!" said the Emperor. "How can I reward you? You must
always stay with me."

"Not so," replied the Nightingale. "I cannot build my nest in a
palace, but I will come and sit in the evening on the spray yonder by
the window and sing you something so that you may be glad and
thoughtful at once. I will sing of those who are happy and those who
suffer. I will sing of good and of evil that are hidden from you. The
little singing bird flies far around, to the poor fishermen, to the
peasant's roof, to every one who dwells far from your court. I will
come and sing to you. But one thing you must promise me."

"Everything!" said the Emperor; and he stood there in his imperial
robes, which he had put on himself, and pressed his sword to his
heart.

"One thing, only, I beg of you," said the Nightingale, "tell no one
that you have a little bird who tells you everything. Then it will go
all the better."

And the Nightingale flew away.

The servants came in to look at their dead Emperor, and, yes, there he
stood; and the Emperor said, "Good morning!"

HOW THE WREN BECAME KING

A long while ago when there were not so many people on the earth as
there are now, and the birds and animals had things about their own
way, a Cuckoo gave a tea party.

She invited all the birds there were, from the great Eagle, through
the Larks, Swallows, Finches, and Crows, down to the little brown bird
that sings alone in the hedges and had no name then. She seated them
all around her table, although it was a task to find places for them
all; and she gave each bird whatever it liked best of all to eat.

Every one wondered why the Cuckoo took such trouble as this, and
certain people say to this day, "as silly as a Cuckoo," because of it;
but when all the birds had eaten their fill, the Cuckoo hopped upon
the table and addressed the assembled company.

"It seems to me," said the Cuckoo, "that things have been going very
badly with us for some time, and that all would be remedied if we had
a king to settle our affairs and rule over us. I would suggest that we
choose a king to-day."

Oh, how the birds chirped, and chattered, and peeped at that. The
Cuckoo had imagined that she would have the say as to which bird
should be king, and she had in mind one of her own sons, but, no
indeed! Each bird at the tea party was sure that he had royal blood in
his veins, and they all began to argue and quarrel about it.

About that time a Rooster a