she came. But instead of letting her eat
quietly, he took a large lump of the meat and rammed it down her throat
with his crook, so that she died. And when he saw she was dead, he said:
'That is what you have got for tormenting my uncle!' and left her lying
where she was, while he went after the singing birds. It took him a long
time to catch them; but at length he had the whole seven hidden in the
pockets of his tunic, and then he threw the old woman's body into some
bushes, and drove the sheep before him, back to their fold. And when
they drew near the house the seven boys came to meet him, and he gave a
bird to each.

'Why are you weeping?' asked the boys, as they took their birds.

'Because your grandmother is dead!' And they ran and told their father.
Then the man came up and said to Mohammed: 'What was the matter? How did
she die?'

And Mohammed answered: 'I was tending the sheep when she said to me,
"Kill me that ram; I am hungry!" So I killed it, and gave her the meat.
But she had no teeth, and it choked her.'

'But why did you kill the ram, instead of one of the sheep?' asked the
man.

'What was I to do?' said Mohammed. 'I had to obey orders!'

'Well, I must see to her burial!' said the man; and the next morning
Mohammed drove out the sheep as usual, thinking to himself, 'Thank
goodness I've got rid of the old woman! Now for the boys!'

All day long he looked after the sheep, and towards evening he began to
dig some little holes in the ground, out of which he took six scorpions.
These he put in his pockets, together with one bird which he caught.
After this he drove his flock home.

When he approached the house the boys came out to meet him as before,
saying: 'Give me my bird!' and he put a scorpion into the hand of each,
and it stung him, and he died. But to the youngest only he gave a bird.

As soon as he saw the boys lying dead on the ground, Mohammed lifted up
his voice and cried loudly: 'Help, help! the children are dead!'

And the people came running fast, saying: 'What has happened? How have
they died?'

And Mohammed answered: 'It was your own fault! The boys had been
accustomed to birds, and in this bitter cold their fingers grew stiff,
and could hold nothing, so that the birds flew away, and their spirits
flew with them. Only the youngest, who managed to keep tight hold of his
bird, is still alive.'

And the father groaned, and said, 'I have borne enough! Bring no more
birds, lest I los