The King made no reply, merely gazing sternly at the Crow.  But the Swallow took up the word.

“Look at him, look at him indeed, O King!” he screamed.  “There is something strange about his kingly plumage.  That swallow-tail is mine, I know it!” And with a vicious tweak the Swallow pulled out the long forked feathers of which the Crow was especially proud.  Oh, what a shriek of rage the mad old bird gave!  At that moment the Hoopoe came up and said, “Ha!  Methinks I too recognize my property.  This is my crown,” and forthwith he snatched the plumes from the Crow’s forehead, leaving it quite ugly and bare.  Next the gentle Redbreast claimed his vest, and the Bluebird her azure feathers, and the Ostrich her train which she had sorely missed.  Each of the birds in turn came up and with much chattering and scolding twitched away the property of which he or she had been robbed, until the Crow stood before them in his customary suit of solemn black, a bird ashamed and sore.  For they had pecked him with their bills and beaten him with their wings and scratched him with their claws until even his own plain old coat was frayed and rent.

“Oh ho, oh ho!  It is only old Daddy Crow, after all!” screamed the birds in chorus.  And then, because the Eagle burst out laughing, they saw that it was really funny.  Since the King did not mind being robbed for a time of his title, surely they need not mourn over the few feathers which the thief had borrowed, especially since each now had his own.  Chattering with glee they all flew home to their various nests, leaving the Crow alone with his shame and soreness.

Just at this moment the Peacock and his cousin came hurrying up out of breath.

“Oh, what is it?  What is the matter?  What was all that noise just now?” asked the Peacock.

“Oh, what has become of the beautiful, noble, splendid, remarkable, graceful, gorgeous, stylish, long-tailed, kingly stranger?” questioned the Peacock’s cousin, speaking affably to the Crow, for the first time since his adoption into high society.

The Crow looked at him sideways, and all his madness went away as he saw how very, very silly this creature was.

“He was a fool in fools’ feathers,” he croaked.  “He is no more.  But before the end he bade me return these to you, saying, ’Fine feathers do not make fine birds.’” Speaking thus, he presented to the pair their two long feathers with which he had started his collection and which were the only ones now remaining to the masquerading Crow.

Then with a harsh Caw! he flew away to his tree.  He is not a happy bird, but since that time he has never been so mad as to think that clothes are the chief thing in the world.

KING SOLOMON AND THE BIRDS

King Solomon was wiser than all men, and his fame was in all nations round about Jerusalem.  He was so wise that he knew every spoken language; yes, but more than this, he could talk with everything that lived, trees and flowers, beasts and fowls, creeping things and fishes.  What a very pleasant thing that was for Solomon, to be sure!  And how glad one would be nowadays to have such knowledge!