Hear the story of this one.
He was a queer-looking little creature. He came out in the brood of a
handsome black Spanish hen. All his brothers and sisters were as pretty
as you would see in a day’s walk, but he was very odd-looking. He had
only one good eye, one good wing, and one good leg to carry him about,
hippety-hop, hippety-hop. When his mother saw he was crippled, she at
once loved him best, and gave him the splendid name of Coquerico. But
hear about him.
Maybe you think a one-eyed, one-armed, one-legged chick like Coquerico
would be good and gentle. Why, if one of his brothers ran against him
without meaning to, Coquerico flew at the poor fellow and called him
names. And he was so conceited that he thought himself better than his
brothers and sisters, and that he knew more than his mother.
So one day he hippety-hopped up to his mother and said, “My lady mother,
I am too good for this family; I should be in the king’s court. I’m off
to Madrid, where the king lives.”
“What are you thinking of, my poor little one?” cried his mother. “Who
has put such nonsense into your head? Where would my little crippled
one find a home like this—mulberry trees to shade him, a white-washed
henroost, a high dunghill, worms and corn in plenty, brothers and sisters
that are fond of him, and a mother who loves him dearly. Stay where you
are, my child; believe me I know what is best for you.”
“Do you think so?” said Coquerico, saucily. “I don’t. I wish to go out
into the world, where everyone may hear of me, I am so clever. I’m off to
Madrid to see the king.”
“But, my son, have you never looked in the brook?” asked his mother.
“Don’t you know that you have only one eye, one wing, and one leg? To
make your way in the world you need the sharp eyes of a fox, the swift
wings of a hawk, and the many soft legs of a spider. Once outside, you
are lost.”
“My good mother,” said Coquerico, just as saucily, “I am well able to
take care of myself. I am better than my family and must find people who
can see how clever I am. So I’m off to Madrid to see the king.”
“Well, my son,” said the anxious mother-hen, “listen to your mother’s
last words. Keep away from people known as cooks and scullions; you will
know them by their paper caps, tucked up sleeves, and great sharp knives.”
So away went Coquerico, making believe not to see the tear in his
mother’s eye. Without caring for those he left, he hippety-hopped
out the gate and stopped only long enough to crow three times,
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” Then over the fields he went hippety-hop,
hippety-hop.
By and by he came to a small brook almost choked by a couple of dead
leaves. “My friend,” it called out to him, “will you free me that I may
flow on? One stroke of your beak is enough.”
“Do I look like a brook-sweeper?” answered Coquerico. “Help yourself; I’m
off to Madrid to see the king.” And on he went, hippety-hop, hippety-hop.
A little farther on Coquerico saw the wind lying breathless on the
ground. “Dear friend, help me,” it cried; “here on earth we should help
one another. If you will fan me a little with your wing I shall have
strength to rise to my place among the clouds, where I am needed for the
next whirlwind.”
“Do I look like a wind-bellows,” answered Coquerico; “help yourself. I am
off to Madrid to see the king.” And on he went, hippety-hop, hippety-hop.
A little farther on he came to a newly mown field, where the farmers had
piled up the weeds to burn them. As he stopped his hippety-hop to search
among a smoking heap for a kernel of corn, he saw a little flame, barely
flickering, it was so nearly out.
“My dear friend,” cried the flame, faintly, “will you bring me a few dry
straws to rekindle me that I may burn brightly?”
“Do I look like a servant?” cried Coquerico, haughtily; “I’ll teach you
to call out to a fowl that has business with the king.” And he leaped on
the heap of dried weeds and trampled it down till it smothered the flame!
Then he flapped his one wing and crowed three times, “Cock-a-doodle-doo,”
as if he had done something to be proud of.
And so strutting and crowing, though he had to go hippety-hop, he arrived
at Madrid and the king’s palace. Grand and beautiful as it was, he did
not stop to look at it, but made for the hen yard, stopping every second
step to crow, “Cock-a-doodle,” to tell the king and all the world he was
coming.
In the hen yard there was of course no king, but a boy with a paper cap
on his head and sleeves tucked up and a great sharp knife in his hand.
“A scullion, I suppose,” said Coquerico to himself, “but he will not
stop me; I have business with the king.”
“Well, you’re an odd one,” cried the boy, coming over to look at the
new-comer. “Cook wants a rare bird for the king’s dinner, you’re just in
time.” And he seized Coquerico and carried him into the kitchen.
Here the cook popped him into a pot of water and left him, and with the
boy went out of the kitchen to attend to something else.
The water began to get warm and then hot. “Oh, Madame Water,” cried
Coquerico, becoming all at once as meek as a dove, “good and gentle
water, best and purest in the world, do not scald me, I beg of you.”
“Did you show any pity, selfish wretch?” answered the Water, boiling with
indignation. Coquerico leaped out of the pot, knocking off the cover,
only to land on the fire.
“Oh, Fire, Fire, do not burn me,” he cried, dancing around on his back;
“oh, beautiful and brilliant flame, brother of the sun, and cousin of the
shining diamond, do not roast me.”
“Did you have any pity, you selfish wretch?” cried the Fire, blazing so
fiercely with anger that the chick in frightful pain leaped out of a
window near by.
But as he landed on the flagging the Wind caught him and whirled him up.
“Oh, Wind,” shrieked Coquerico, faintly, “oh, kindly Wind, oh, cooling
breeze, you make me so dizzy my head reels. Pray let me down that I may
rest.”
“Let you rest,” roared the Wind, “wait and I’ll teach you, you selfish
wretch.”
And with one blast it sent him up so high that as he fell down he stuck
on a steeple.
There, if you look, you may see him to this very day, forced at last to
help others in this world, a weathervane.
—SPANISH FOLK TALE