And the cobbler gave them willingly, so the white bird sang its song once more.  Then with the rose-red shoes in one foot it flew to an ash tree that grew close beside a goldsmith’s bench, and sang: 

  “Stepmother slew me,
   Father nigh ate me,
   He whom I dearly love
   Sits below, I sing above,
   Stick!  Stock!  Stone dead!”

“Oh, what a beautiful song!” cried the goldsmith.

“Sing again, dear bird, it is sweeter than a nightingale’s.”

“That will I gladly,” sang the bird, “if you will give me the gold chain you’re making.”

And the goldsmith gave the bauble willingly, and the bird sang its song once more.  Then with the rose-red shoes in one foot and the golden chain in the other, the bird flew to an oak tree which overhung the mill stream, beside which three millers were busy picking out a millstone, and, perching on a bough, sang its song ever so sweetly: 

  “My stepmother slew me,
   My father nigh ate me,
   He whom I dearly love
   Sits below, I sing above,
   Stick!—­”

Just then one of the millers put down his tool and listened.

“Stock!” sang the bird.

And the second miller put aside his tool and listened.

“Stone,” sang the bird.

Then the third miller put aside his tool and listened.

“Dead!” sang the bird so sweetly that with one accord the millers looked up and cried with one voice: 

“Oh, what a beautiful song!  Sing it again, dear bird, it is sweeter than a nightingale’s.”

“That will I gladly,” answered the bird, “if you will hang the millstone you are picking round my neck.”

So the millers hung it as they were asked; and when the song was finished, the bird spread its wide white wings and, with the millstone round its neck and the little rose-red shoes in one foot, the golden chain in the other, it flew back to the rose tree.  But the little playmate was not there; he was inside the house eating his dinner.

Then the bird flew to the house, and rattled the millstone about the eaves until the stepmother cried, “Hearken!  How it thunders!”

So the little boy ran out to see, and down dropped the dainty rose-red shoes at his feet.

“See what fine things the thunder has brought!” he cried with glee as he ran back.

Then the white bird rattled the millstone about the eaves once more, and once again the stepmother said, “Hearken!  How it thunders!”

So this time the father went out to see, and down dropped the golden chain about his neck.

“It is true,” he said when he came back.  “The thunder does bring fine things!”

Then once more the white bird rattled the millstone about the eaves, and this time the stepmother said hurriedly, “Hark! there it is again!  Perhaps it has got something for me!”

Then she ran out; but the moment she stepped outside the door, down fell the millstone right on her head and killed her.