hoppity-kick,
hoppity-kick, away stumped Medio Pollito.

A little later he came to a fire that had been left by some gipsies in
a wood. It was burning very low, and would soon be out.

'Oh! Medio Pollito,' cried the fire, in a weak, wavering voice as the
half-chick approached, 'in a few minutes I shall go quite out, unless
you put some sticks and dry leaves upon me. Do help me, or I shall die!'

'Help you, indeed!' answered Medio Pollito. 'I have other things to do.
Gather sticks for yourself, and don't trouble me. I am off to Madrid to
see the King,' and hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, away stumped Medio
Pollito.

The next morning, as he was getting near Madrid, he passed a large
chestnut tree, in whose branches the wind was caught and entangled. 'Oh!
Medio Pollito,' called the wind, 'do hop up here, and help me to get
free of these branches. I cannot come away, and it is so uncomfortable.'

'It is your own fault for going there,' answered Medio Pollito. 'I can't
waste all my morning stopping here to help you. Just shake yourself off,
and don't hinder me, for I am off to Madrid to see the King,' and
hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, away stumped Medio Pollito in great glee,
for the towers and roofs of Madrid were now in sight. When he entered
the town he saw before him a great splendid house, with soldiers
standing before the gates. This he knew must be the King's palace, and
he determined to hop up to the front gate and wait there until the King
came out. But as he was hopping past one of the back windows the King's
cook saw him:

'Here is the very thing I want,' he exclaimed, 'for the King has just
sent a message to say that he must have chicken broth for his dinner,'
and opening the window he stretched out his arm, caught Medio Pollito,
and popped him into the broth-pot that was standing near the fire. Oh!
how wet and clammy the water felt as it went over Medio Pollito's head,
making his feathers cling to his side.

'Water, water!' he cried in his despair, 'do have pity upon me, and do
not wet me like this.'

'Ah! Medio Pollito,' replied the water, 'you would not help me when I
was a little stream away on the fields, now you must be punished.'

Then the fire began to burn and scald Medio Pollito, and he danced and
hopped from one side of the pot to the other, trying to get away from
the heat, and crying out in pain:

'Fire, fire! do not scorch me like this; you can't think how it hurts.'

'Ah! Medio Pollito,' an