“Honey,” said the man to his wife, “go to the shop and bring me the pair of red shoes on the top shelf.” So his wife went and fetched the shoes. “Here, bird,” said the man, “now sing me that ditty one more time.”
Then the bird swooped down, grabbed hold of the shoes with its left claw, and flew back up to the rooftop and sang:
“My mother, she smote me,
My father, he ate me,
My sister, sweet Marlenikin,
Gathered all my little bonikins,
Bound them in a silken scarf,
And lay them under the juniper tree.
Tweet, tweet, I’m a pretty birdie, look at me!”
And once it had sung the song to the end, it flew away. With the golden chain in its right claw and the shoes in its left, it flew to a mill. And the mill went: “Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop.” And in the mill sat twenty apprentices hammering and chiseling away at a millstone: “Slam-bam, slam-bam, slam-bam.” And the mill went: “Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop.” The bird landed on a juniper tree that stood in front of the mill and sang:
“My mother, she smote me.”
Whereupon one apprentice stopped what he was doing.
“My father, he ate me.”
Two more stopped working and listened up.
“My sister, sweet Marlenikin.”
Four more stopped to listen.
“Gathered all my little bonikins,
Bound them in a silken scarf.”
Now only eight kept hammering.
“And lay them under . . .”
Now only five.
“. . . The juniper tree.”
Now just one.
“Tweet, tweet, I’m a pretty birdie, look at me!”
Then the last one also stopped what he was doing and heard the last words of the song. “Bird,” said he, “you sing so sweetly! I’d like to hear it all, sing it to me one more time.”
“No,” said the bird, “I won’t sing it a second time for nothing. If you give me the millstone I’ll sing it again.”
“If it belonged to me alone,” he said, “you could have it.”
“Okay,” the others agreed, “if the bird sings it again he can have it.”
Then the bird came flying down, and twenty millers heaved a beam and lifted up the stone, with an “Ally-oop, ally-oop, ally-oop!”
Whereupon the bird poked its head through the hole in the millstone, and wearing it like a collar, flew back up to the tree and sang:
“My mother, she smote me,
My father, he ate me,
My sister, sweet Marlenikin,
Gathered all my little bonikins,
Bound them in a silken scarf,
And lay them under the juniper tree.
Tweet, tweet, I’m a pretty birdie, look at me!”
And having sung it to the end, the bird flapped its wings, with the chain in its right claw, the shoes in its left, and the millstone around its neck, and flew off to the father’s house.
There at the table sat the father, the mother, and Marlenikin, and the father said, “I feel so glad-hearted, so happy through and through.”
“Not me,” said the mother. “I feel a deep dread, as if a dark storm were headed our way.”
But Marlenikin just sat there, crying her eyes out.
Then the bird came flying up and landed on the rooftop, and the father said, “I feel as good as gold, and the sun is shining so brightly outside. I’ve got a funny feeling I’m going to meet again someone near and dear to me.”
“Not me,” said the wife. “I’m so scared my teeth are rattling and my blood runs like fire through my veins.” And she tore open her bodice to breathe a little better.
But Marlenikin sat crying in a corner, and holding a handkerchief to her eyes she soaked it through and through with her tears.
Then the bird landed on the juniper tree and sang:
“My mother, she smote me.”
Whereupon the mother held her ears and eyes shut so as not to hear or see, but there was a terrible tempest storming in her ears and her eyes burned like they were struck with lightning.
“My father, he ate me.”
“Oh, Mother,” said the man, “there’s a pretty bird singing so sweetly, and the sun-baked air’s so warm. I swear it smells like cinnamon.”
“My sister, sweet Marlenikin,” sang the bird.
Whereupon the girl lay her head on her knees and wept like there was no tomorrow.
But the man said, “I’ve got to go out and see that bird up close.”
“Don’t go, I beg you,” said the woman. “It feels like the whole house were on fire, every timber trembling.”
But the man went out and peered at the bird.
“Gathered all my little bonikins,
Bound them in a silken scarf,
And lay them under the juniper tree.
Tweet, tweet, I’m a pretty birdie, look at me!”