A bit farther on, the Half-Chick came to a Fire, which was smothered in damp sticks and in great distress.

“Oh, little Half-Chick,” said the Fire, “you are just in time to save me.  I am almost dead for want of air.  Fan me a little with your wing, I beg.”

“The idea!” said the little Half-Chick.  “I cannot be bothered with you; I am off to Madrid, to see the King!” And he went laughing off, hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick.

When he had hoppity-kicked a good way, and was near Madrid, he came to a clump of bushes, where the Wind was caught fast.  The Wind was whimpering, and begging to be set free.

“Little Half-Chick,” said the Wind, “you are just in time to help me; if you will brush aside these twigs and leaves, I can get my breath; help me, quickly!”

“Ho! the idea!” said the little Half-Chick “I have no time to bother with you.  I am going to Madrid, to see the King.”  And he went off, hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, leaving the Wind to smother.

After a while he came to Madrid and to the palace of the King.  Hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, the little Half-Chick skipped past the sentry at the gate, and hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, he crossed the court.  But as he was passing the windows of the kitchen the Cook looked out and saw him.

“The very thing for the King’s dinner!” she said.  “I was needing a chicken!” And she seized the little Half-Chick by his one wing and threw him into a kettle of water on the fire.

The Water came over the little Half-Chick’s feathers, over his head, into his eyes.  It was terribly uncomfortable.  The little Half-Chick cried out,—­

“Water, don’t drown me!  Stay down, don’t come so high!”

“But,” the Water said, “Little Half-Chick, little Half-Chick, when I was in trouble you would not help me,” and came higher than ever.

Now the Water grew warm, hot, hotter, frightfully hot; the little Half-Chick cried out, “Do not burn so hot, Fire!  You are burning me to death!  Stop!”

But the Fire said, “Little Half-Chick, little Half-Chick, when I was in trouble you would not help me,” and burned hotter than ever.

Just as the little Half-Chick thought he must suffocate, the Cook took the cover off, to look at the dinner.  “Dear me,” she said, “this chicken is no good; it is burned to a cinder.”  And she picked the little Half-Chick up by one leg and threw him out of the window.

In the air he was caught by a breeze and taken up higher than the trees.  Round and round he was twirled till he was so dizzy he thought he must perish.  “Don’t blow me so, Wind,” he cried, “let me down!”

“Little Half-Chick, little Half-Chick,” said the Wind, “when I was in trouble you would not help me!” And the Wind blew him straight up to the top of the church steeple, and stuck him there, fast!

There he stands to this day, with his one eye, his one wing, and his one leg.  He cannot hoppity-kick any more, but he turns slowly round when the wind blows, and keeps his head toward it, to hear what it says.