as his pet
hawk.

The hawk flew back and forth a few times, and then alighted among the
rocks by the spring.

The king picked up the cup, and again held it to catch the tric-kling
drops.

This time he did not wait so long. When the cup was half full, he
lifted it toward his mouth. But before it had touched his lips, the
hawk swooped down again, and knocked it from his hands.

And now the king began to grow angry. He tried again; and for the
third time the hawk kept him from drinking.

The king was now very angry indeed.

"How do you dare to act so?" he cried. "If I had you in my hands, I
would wring your neck!"

Then he filled the cup again. But before he tried to drink, he drew
his sword.

"Now, Sir Hawk," he said, "this is the last time."

He had hardly spoken, before the hawk swooped down and knocked the cup
from his hand. But the king was looking for this. With a quick sweep
of the sword he struck the bird as it passed.

The next moment the poor hawk lay bleeding and dying at its master's
feet.

"That is what you get for your pains," said Genghis Khan.

But when he looked for his cup, he found that it had fallen between
two rocks, where he could not reach it.

"At any rate, I will have a drink from that spring," he said to
himself.

With that he began to climb the steep bank to the place from which the
water trickled. It was hard work, and the higher he climbed, the
thirst-i-er he became.

At last he reached the place. There indeed was a pool of water; but
what was that lying in the pool, and almost filling it? It was a huge,
dead snake of the most poi-son-ous kind.

The king stopped. He forgot his thirst. He thought only of the poor
dead bird lying on the ground below him.

[Illustration]

"The hawk saved my life!" he cried; "and how did I repay him? He was
my best friend, and I have killed him."

He clam-bered down the bank. He took the bird up gently, and laid it
in his hunting bag. Then he mounted his horse and rode swiftly home.
He said to himself,--

"I have learned a sad lesson to-day; and that is, never to do
any-thing in anger."

DOCTOR GOLDSMITH.

There was once a kind man whose name was Oliver Gold-smith. He wrote
many de-light-ful books, some of which you will read when you are
older.

He had a gentle heart. He was always ready to help others and to share
with them anything that he had. He gave away so much to the poor that
he was always poor himself.

He was