more tempting than the last.  But you must not touch a stone or a single coin, or even a little bit of gold-dust, until you have seen the King.  For first you must offer yourself to be his servant, and then he will be generous; then he will let you carry away as much treasure as your beak will hold.  That is all there is to it.  But beware, greedy Whitebird!  Take my advice, and do not touch a grain of treasure before you see the King, or great evil will befall you.”

Whitebird promised to do as she said.  And then away he flew to the blue mountain and its tallest oak.  Close by the great oak, in a lonely spot, he found the flat rock, and under it was the cave where once a bear had lived.  Whitebird hopped in eagerly, and away back in one corner of the cave he found a little round hole, as the Magpie had said; a hole not much bigger than an apple.  It must have been a tight squeeze for fat Mother Magpie!

Whitebird hopped through the hole and found himself in a long, narrow passage which led down, down, down into places where his eyes were of no use at all.  For he was not like Master Owl, who can see better in the dark than anywhere else.  Blindly he hopped on and on, till he came into a great cavern, bright with a white radiance, as if the moonlight filtered in from somewhere.  It was the first room of the King’s palace of treasure; and it was all of silver, paved with silver, heaped with silver, shining with silver.  Whitebird’s eyes glittered and he wanted to stop and take some for himself.  But just in time he remembered the wise warning of Mother Magpie; and so he hopped on over the silver pebbles through a silver door into a second room.  And this was flooded with yellow light as of sunshine, so dazzling that for a moment Whitebird’s yellow eyes could see nothing at all.  When he could see, the place seemed full of yellow eyes like his own, great yellow eyes heaped up from floor to ceiling.  And when he became used to this he looked again and saw that these were golden coins, and that this was a cavern all of gold.

Oh, such a wonderful sight!  Oh, such a golden dream!  The floor on which he stood was deep with gold dust, which squished between his toes like yellow sand on a sea beach.  And then Whitebird lost his head and went quite mad, forgetting the words of wise Mother Magpie.

“Gold dust, gold dust, a treasure for me!” he sang, hopping up and down on one leg.  “I can carry away a great beakful of the yellow seeds, and each one will blossom into a golden flower for me—­for me—­for me!” He was wholly crazy, as you see.

He thrust his bill deep into the gold dust of the floor, and greedily filled it more than full, till it dropped over his white, white feathers and splashed his coat so that he was no longer a white bird but a yellow bird.  Oh, the silly, greedy thing!  But there are worse fates than being a yellow bird.