t worth living!' he cried; 'I wish I was a
toad.'

And, of course, he was, for the magic jewel was still on his front foot.

Now that Muscadel was a toad he felt he should like to find a quiet damp
place to live in, so he crawled to the edge of the basin of the palace
fountain.

And when he had found a nice damp crack in the marble he squeezed in and
stayed there for some days. But one day, when he went out for a breath
of air and a woodlouse or two, a great beak clattered quite near him,
and startled him so that he nearly jumped out of his toad's skin.

The person with a beak was a stork, and Muscadel knew what the stork
wanted.

'Oh, a toad's life is a dog's life,' said Muscadel; 'I wish I was a
stork.'

So he was a stork, and the magic jewel, grown bigger, was round his
right leg.

It was fine to be a stork, and he did not envy even the golden eagle
that flew down to drink at the fountain. And when the eagle came within
a yard or two of him he felt so large and brave that he said:

'Keep to your own side, will you? Where are you shoving to?'

The golden eagle, whose temper is very short, looked at him with evil
golden eyes, and said:

'You'll soon see where I am shoving to,' and flew at him.

Muscadel saw that he had made a mistake that might cost him his life.

'Oh, what's the good of being a stork?' he said. 'I wish I was an
eagle.'

And as soon as he was one he flew away, leaving the other eagle with its
beak open in amazement, too much 'struck of a heap,' as he told his
wife afterwards, to follow the new bird and finish off their quarrel in
the air.

'Oh, how grand it is to be an eagle!' said Muscadel, sailing on
widespread wings; and just as he said it an arrow caught him under the
left wing. It hurt horribly. 'What a powerful thing an arrow is!' he
said. 'Dear me, how it hurts! I wish I was an arrow.'

So he was one, but he was an arrow in the quiver of a very stupid
bowman, who shot next day at a buzzard and missed it. So the arrow,
which was Muscadel, lodged high in an oak-tree, and the stupid bowman
could not get it down again.

'I don't like being a slave to a mere bow,' said Muscadel; 'I'll be a
bow myself.'

But when he was a bow the archer who owned him hurt his bow-back so in
fitting him with a new string that he got very cross, and said:

'This is worse slavery than the other. I want to be an archer.'

So he was an archer. And as it happened he was one of the King's
archers. T