"I will pluck them," squeaked the youngest sparrow, who had as yet no
feathers of his own. In the cottage dwelt two young married people, who loved each other very
much and were industrious and active so that everything looked neat and
pretty around them. Early on Sunday mornings the young wife came out,
gathered a handful of the most beautiful roses, and put them in a glass
of water, which she placed on a side table. "I see now that it is Sunday," said the husband, as he kissed his little
wife. Then they sat down and read in their hymn books, holding each
other's hands, while the sun shone down upon the young couple and upon
the fresh roses in the glass. "This sight is really too wearisome," said the mother sparrow, who from
her nest could look into the room; and she flew away. The same thing occurred the next Sunday; and indeed every Sunday fresh
roses were gathered and placed in a glass, but the rose tree continued
to bloom in all its beauty. After a while the young sparrows were
fledged and wanted to fly, but the mother would not allow it, and so
they were obliged to remain in the nest for the present, while she flew
away alone. It so happened that some boys had fastened a snare made of
horsehair to the branch of a tree, and before she was aware, her leg
became entangled in the horsehair so tightly as almost to cut it
through. What pain and terror she felt! The boys ran up quickly and
seized her, not in a very 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. *       *       *       *       *

"Tweet," sounded from the nest; "where can our mother be staying? It is
quite unaccountable. Can this be a trick of hers to show us that we are
now to take care of ourselves? She has left us the house as an
inheritance, but as it cannot belong to us all when we have families,
who is to have it?" "It won't do for you all to stay with me when I increase my household
with a wife and children," remarked the youngest. "I shall have more wives and children than you," said the second. "But I am the eldest," cried a third. Then they all became angry, beat each other with their wings, pecked
with their beaks, till one after another bounced out of the nest. There
they lay in a rage, holding their heads on one side and twinkling the
eye that looked upward. This was their way of looking sulky. They could all fly a little, and by practice they soon learned to do so
much better. At length they agreed upon a sign by which they might be
able to recognize each other in case they should meet in the world after
they had separated. This sign was to be the cry of "tweet, tweet," and a
scratching on the ground three times with the left foot. The youngster who was left behind in the nest spread himself out as
broad as ever he could; he was the householder now. But his glory did
not last long, for during that night red flames of fire burst through
the windows of the cottage, seized the thatched roof, and blazed up
frightfully. The whole house was burned, and the sparrow perished with
it, while the young couple fortunately escaped with their lives. When the sun rose again, and all nature looked refreshed as after a
quiet sleep, nothing remained of the cottage but a few blackened,
charred beams leaning against the chimney, that now was the only master
of the place. Thick smoke still rose from the ruins, but outside on the
wall the rosebush remained unhurt, blooming and fresh as ever, while
each flower and each spray was mirrored in the clear water beneath. "How beautifully the roses are blooming on the walls of that ruined
cottage," said a passer-by. "A more lovely picture could scarcely be
imagined. I must have it." And the speaker took out of his pocket a little book full of white
leaves of paper (for he was an artist), and with a pencil he made a
sketch of the smoking ruins, the blackened rafters, and the chimney that
overhung them and which seemed more and more to totter; and quite in the
foreground stood the large, blooming rosebush, which added beauty to the
picture; indeed, it was for the sake of the roses that the sketch had
been made. Later in the day two of the sparrows who had been born there
came by. "Where is the house?" they asked. "Where is the nest? Tweet, tweet; all
is burned down, and our strong brother with it. That is all he got by
keeping the nest. The roses have escaped famously; they look as well as
ever, with their rosy cheeks; they do not trouble themselves about their
neighbors' misfortunes. I won't speak to them. And really, in my
opinion, the place looks very ugly"; so they flew away.