swered the fire, 'you would not help me when I
was dying away in the wood. You are being punished.'

At last, just when the pain was so great that Medio Pollito thought he
must die, the cook lifted up the lid of the pot to see if the broth was
ready for the King's dinner.

'Look here!' he cried in horror, 'this chicken is quite useless.

It is burnt to a cinder. I can't send it up to the royal table;' and
opening the window he threw Medio Pollito out into the street. But the
wind caught him up, and whirled him through the air so quickly that
Medio Pollito could scarcely breathe, and his heart beat against his
side till he thought it would break.

[Illustration]

'Oh, wind!' at last he gasped out, 'if you hurry me along like this you
will kill me. Do let me rest a moment, or----' but he was so breathless
that he could not finish his sentence.

'Ah! Medio Pollito,' replied the wind, 'when I was caught in the
branches of the chestnut tree you would not help me; now you are
punished.' And he swirled Medio Pollito over the roofs of the houses
till they reached the highest church in the town, and there he left him
fastened to the top of the steeple.

And there stands Medio Pollito to this day. And if you go to Madrid, and
walk through the streets till you come to the highest church, you will
see Medio Pollito perched on his one leg on the steeple, with his one
wing drooping at his side, and gazing sadly out of his one eye over the
town.

Spanish Tradition.

_THE STORY OF CALIPH STORK_

I.

Caliph Chasid, of Bagdad, was resting comfortably on his divan one fine
afternoon. He was smoking a long pipe, and from time to time he sipped a
little coffee which a slave handed to him, and after each sip he stroked
his long beard with an air of enjoyment. In short, anyone could see that
the Caliph was in an excellent humour. This was, in fact, the best time
of day in which to approach him, for just now he was pretty sure to be
both affable and in good spirits, and for this reason the Grand Vizier
Mansor always chose this hour in which to pay his daily visit.

He arrived as usual this afternoon, but, contrary to his usual custom,
with an anxious face. The Caliph withdrew his pipe for a moment from his
lips and asked, 'Why do you look so anxious, Grand Vizier?'

The Grand Vizier crossed his arms on his breast and bent low before his
master as he answered:

'Oh, my Lord! whether my countenance be anxious or n