“Good gracious!  Who is that extraordinary fowl?” drawled the Peacock.  “He must be some great noble from a far country.”

“How beautiful!” murmured his silly cousin.  “How odd!  How fascinating!  How distinguished!  I wish the Crow had painted me like that!” The Crow heard these words and swelled with pride, casting a scornful glance at his old friend as he swept by.

Next he met a little Sparrow who was picking bugs from the grass.  “Out of my way, Birdling!” cried the Crow haughtily.  “I am the King.”

“The King!” gasped the Sparrow, nearly choking over a fat bug, he was so surprised.  “I did not know that the King wore such a robe.  How gorgeous—­but how queer!”

Next the Crow met Mr. Stork, standing gravely on one leg and thinking of the little baby which he was going to bring that night to the cottage by the lake.  The Stork looked up in surprise as the wonderful stranger approached.

“Bless me!” he exclaimed, “whom have we here?  I thought I knew all Birdland, but I never before saw such a freak as this!”

[Illustration:  "Bless me!” he exclaimed, “whom have we here?"]

“I am the King.  I am to be the new King,” announced the Crow.  “Is there any bird more gorgeous than I?”

“Truly, I hope not,” said the Stork gravely.  “Yet the Woodcock is a very foolish bird.  One never knows what he will do next.  If he should try to be fashionable”—­

But the Crow had passed on without listening to the Stork’s sarcasm.

As he went through Birdland he drew behind him a following of feathered citizens, chattering, screaming, tittering all together like the crowd after a circus procession.  All the birds, big and little, plain and pretty, flocked to see this wonderful stranger who because of his fine clothes was coming to have himself named King.  Some of them thought him truly beautiful, some thought him ridiculous; some envied him, some jeered.  But they all stared; and the more they stared the more conceited became the Crow, the more sure that the kingdom was to be his.

At last they came into the presence of the Eagle himself.  That royal bird was perched upon his eyrie far up on the cliff.  Below him gathered the dense flock of birds, waiting to see what would happen when the Crow demanded to be made King in the Eagle’s place.  The Eagle had been warned of the matter by the little Humming-Bird, and was looking very majestic and scornful.  But the Swallow flew round and round in great circles, twittering excitedly, and in each circle sweeping nearer and nearer to the ground.  The Swallow was angry because some one had stolen his beautiful swallow-tail.

Presently the Crow swaggered forth, and cocking his impertinent eye towards the Eagle he croaked,—­

“Hello there, Old High-perch!  Give me your crown and sceptre, for I am King of the Birds, not you.  Look at my gorgeous clothes; look at your own dull plumage.  Am I not kingly?—­look at me.”