y gentle manner.

"It is only a sparrow," they said. However they did not let her fly, but
took her home with them, and every time she cried they tapped her on the
beak.

In the farmyard they met an old man who knew how to make soap for
shaving and washing, in cakes or in balls. When he saw the sparrow which
the boys had brought home and which they said they did not know what to
do with, he said, "Shall we make it beautiful?"

A cold shudder passed over the sparrow when she heard this. The old man
then took a shell containing a quantity of glittering gold leaf from a
box full of beautiful colors and told the youngsters to fetch the white
of an egg, with which he besmeared the sparrow all over and then laid
the gold leaf upon it, so that the mother sparrow was now gilded from
head to tail. She thought not of her appearance, but trembled in every
limb. Then the soap maker tore a little piece out of the red lining of
his jacket, cut notches in it, so that it looked like a cock'scomb, and
stuck it on the bird's head.

"Now you shall see gold-jacket fly," said the old man, and he released
the sparrow, which flew away in deadly terror with the sunlight shining
upon her. How she did glitter! All the sparrows, and even a crow, who is
a knowing old boy, were startled at the sight, yet they all followed it
to discover what foreign bird it could be. Driven by anguish and terror,
she flew homeward almost ready to sink to the earth for want of
strength. The flock of birds that were following increased and some even
tried to peck her.

"Look at him! look at him!" they all cried. "Look at him! look at him!"
cried the young ones as their mother approached the nest, for they did
not know her. "That must be a young peacock, for he glitters in all
colors. It quite hurts one's eyes to look at him, as mother told us;
'tweet,' this is _the beautiful_." And then they pecked the bird with
their little beaks so that she was quite unable to get into the nest and
was too much exhausted even to say "tweet," much less "I am your
mother." So the other birds fell upon the sparrow and pulled out feather
after feather till she sank bleeding into the rosebush.

"You poor creature," said the roses, "be at rest. We will hide you; lean
your little head against us."

The sparrow spread out her wings once more, then drew them in close
about her and lay dead among the roses, her fresh and lovely neighbors.

* * * * *