ll
the courtiers were assembled, and the little scullery-maid, now raised
to the rank of a real Court cook, had received permission to listen
behind the door. Everyone stood dressed in his very best and gazed on
the little gray bird, to whom the mighty Emperor had just nodded his
head.

Then the Nightingale began to sing, and sang so gloriously that the
Emperor's eyes so filled with tears that they overflowed and ran down
his cheeks. And the bird sang on and on, till it reached one's very
heart. The Emperor was so delighted that he said the Nightingale
should wear his own golden slipper around its neck. But the
Nightingale thanked him very politely and said it had already received
sufficient reward.

"For," it said, "I have caused the Emperor's eyes to fill with tears,
and an Emperor's tears have a mighty power. Heaven knows I have been
sufficiently repaid." And again it burst into its beautiful song.

"Oh, what charming coquetry!" said the Court ladies, and each tried to
keep their mouths full of water so that they might gurgle like the
Nightingale when they spoke to anyone. Even the footmen and the
ladies' maids expressed their perfect satisfaction, and that was a
great deal, for they are generally the hardest to please. In short,
the Nightingale had scored a great success.

It was so arranged that in future it should live at Court, in its own
cage, with permission to fly out twice a day, and once during the
night.

On these trips it was accompanied by twelve servants, each of whom
held a silken cord attached to its leg, so that really there could not
be the slightest pleasure for it in such a flight. As for the city,
wherever you went, you met people talking of the wonderful bird. One
had only to say the word "Nightin" when the other would answer "gale,"
and each would give a sigh and feel they perfectly understood each
other. Eleven babies belonging to poor people were christened after
the bird, and yet not one of them could sing a note.

One day a parcel arrived at the palace, addressed to the Emperor, with
the words, "The Nightingale," written on the outside.

"Oh, this must be a fresh book about our famous bird," said the
Emperor.

But it was not a book. A wonderful work of art lay within a casket, a
clockwork nightingale, encrusted in diamonds and rubies and pearls,
and fashioned in the shape of a real bird. When it had been wound up
it sang one of the same songs that the real nightingale sang, and it