y they had been
warned not to laugh during their transformation. He at once communicated
his fears to the Caliph, who exclaimed, 'By Mecca and Medina! it would
indeed prove but a poor joke if I had to remain a stork for the
remainder of my days! Do just try and remember the stupid word, it has
slipped my memory.'

'We must bow three times eastwards and say "Mu . . . mu . . . mu . . ."'

They turned to the east and fell to bowing till their bills touched the
ground, but, oh horror--the magic word was quite forgotten, and however
often the Caliph bowed and however touchingly his Vizier cried 'Mu . . .
mu . . .' they could not recall it, and the unhappy Chasid and Mansor
remained storks as they were.

III.

The two enchanted birds wandered sadly on through the meadows. In their
misery they could not think what to do next. They could not rid
themselves of their new forms; there was no use in returning to the town
and saying who they were; for who would believe a stork who announced
that he was a Caliph; and even if they did believe him, would the people
of Bagdad consent to let a stork rule over them?

So they lounged about for several days, supporting themselves on fruits,
which, however, they found some difficulty in eating with their long
bills. They did not much care to eat frogs or lizards. Their one comfort
in their sad plight was the power of flying, and accordingly they often
flew over the roofs of Bagdad to see what was going on there.

During the first few days they noticed signs of much disturbance and
distress in the streets, but about the fourth day, as they sat on the
roof of the palace, they perceived a splendid procession passing below
them along the street. Drums and trumpets sounded, a man in a scarlet
mantle, embroidered in gold, sat on a splendidly caparisoned horse
surrounded by richly dressed slaves; half Bagdad crowded after him, and
they all shouted, 'Hail, Mirza, the Lord of Bagdad!'

The two storks on the palace roof looked at each other, and Caliph
Chasid said, 'Can you guess now, Grand Vizier, why I have been
enchanted? This Mirza is the son of my deadly enemy, the mighty magician
Kaschnur, who in an evil moment vowed vengeance on me. Still I will not
despair! Come with me, my faithful friend; we will go to the grave of
the Prophet, and perhaps at that sacred spot the spell may be loosed.'

They rose from the palace roof, and spread their wings toward Medina.

But flying was not qui