So the flattered Crow led him to the hollow tree where he had concealed the brushes and the gilding and the India ink, and all the gorgeous changeable tints which an Eastern artist uses in his paintings.  “Here we are,” said the Crow.  “Now let us see what we shall see, when Master Crow turns painter.”

The Crow set to work with a will, splashing on the colors generously, gold and green and bronze iridescence.  He had the Peacock in mind, and though he did not exactly copy the plumage of that wonderful bird, he managed to suggest the cousinship of the Pheasant in the golden eyes of his long and beautiful tail.  When he had finished, the Crow was delighted with his work.

“Ah!” he cried.  “Now bend over this fountain, my dear friend, and observe yourself.  I think you do credit to my skill as an artist, eh?”

The Peacock’s cousin hurried down to the water-pool, all in a flutter of excitement.  And when he saw his image he cried, “How beautiful, how truly beautiful, I am!  Why, I am quite as handsome as Peacock himself.  Surely, now he need not be ashamed to call me cousin.  I shall move in the most fashionable circles.  Heavens!  Look at my lovely tail!  Look at my burnished feathers!  I must go immediately and show my new dress to Cousin Peacock.  I should not be surprised if he became jealous of my gorgeousness.”  And off he started as fast as he could go.

“Hold on!” cried the Crow.  “Don’t run away so quickly.  You have forgotten something.  Don’t you remember that you promised to paint me beautiful like yourself?”

“Oh, bother!” answered the ungrateful friend, tossing his head.  “I have no time now for such business.  I must hasten to my cousin, for this is a matter of family pride.  Run along like a good creature; and by the way, you may as well gather the feathers which Peacock mentioned.  I am sure they will make you look quite respectable.  Besides, I will give you some of mine when I have worn them a little.  Ta-ta!” And he stepped airily away.

But the Crow strode after him, shaking his wings and crying, “Come back, come back and perform your part of the bargain, you selfish, ungrateful creature!” And he caught the Pheasant by one of his long tail-feathers.

“Let go my train, impertinent wretch!” shrieked the Peacock’s cousin, turning upon him fiercely.  “I tell you I have no time to spend in such nonsense.  I must be presenting myself in high society.”

“Villain!” croaked the Crow, and he rushed forward fiercely, intending to tear out the beautiful feathers which he had painted for his ungrateful friend.  Thereupon the Pheasant exclaimed,—­

“You want to be painted, do you?  Well, take that!” and, seizing the bottle of India ink which was in the Eastern artist’s paint-box, he hurled it at the poor Crow, deluging with blackness his spotless feathers.  Then laughing harshly, away he flew to his cousin the Peacock, who received him with proud affection, because they were now really birds of a feather.  For the Peacock’s cousin was become one of the most beautiful birds in the world.