lot,
and I leave you to think how the bile was stirred up within the rascally
reptile. As the Swallow was passing him--mocking and sneering--the
Serpent darted at her, but the bird swiftly passed beyond reach, and
with little effort cleft the vast blue sky and ascended more than a
league. The Serpent snapped only the end of the bird's tail, and that is
how the Swallow's tail is cloven to this day; but, so far from finding
it an inconvenience, she is thereby the more lively and beautiful. And
Man, knowing what he owes to her, is full of gratitude. She has her
abode under the eaves of our houses, and good luck comes wherever she
nestles. Her gay cries, sweet and shrill, rouse the springtide. Is she
not a bird-fairy--a good angel? On the other hand, the crafty Serpent
hardly knows how to get out of the mud, and drags himself along,
climbing and climbing; while the Swallow, free and light, flies in the
gold of the day. For she is faithful Friendship--the little sister of
Love.

M. Blemont does not say in what part of France this legend is current,
but it is doubtless of Asiatic extraction--whether Jewish or Muhammedan.

THE CAPON-CARVER, p. 231.

A variant of the same incident occurs in No. IV of M. Emile Legrand's
_Receuil de Contes Populaires Grecs_ (Paris, 1881), where a prince sets
out in quest of some maiden acquainted with "figurative language," whom
he would marry. He comes upon an old man and his daughter, and overhears
the latter address her father in metaphorical terms, which she has to
explain to the old man, at which the prince is highly pleased, and
following them to their hut desires and obtains shelter for the night.
"As there was not much to eat, the old man bade them kill a cock, and
when it was roasted it was placed on the table. Then the young girl got
up and carved the fowl. She gave the head to her father; the body to her
mother; the wings to the prince; and the flesh to the children. The old
man, seeing his daughter divide the fowl in this manner, turned and
looked at his wife, for he was ashamed to speak of it before the
stranger. But when they were going to bed he said to his daughter: 'Why,
my child, did you cut up the fowl so badly? The stranger has gone
starving to bed.' 'Ah, my father,' she replied, 'you have not understood
it; wait till I explain: I gave the head to you, because you are the
head of this house; to my mother I gave the body, because, like the body
of a ship, she has borne us