There were once two girls who were very dear friends, Zaïca and
Tourtourelle. One morning Zaïca woke up and said, "O Tourtourelle! Last
night I had such a strange dream!"
"And so did I!" cried Tourtourelle. "Let us tell each other the dreams.
But you first, Zaïca."
Zaïca began to laugh. "I dreamed I was a pretty bird with a tuft of
feathers on my head. I could fly, and, O Tourtourelle! it was great fun!
But the most amusing thing of all was that I could sing so finely, and
mock all the birds of the forest. Nay, I could even imitate the sounds
of animals. I cannot help laughing when I think what a jolly time I
had."
"Why, Zaïca!" cried Tourtourelle, wondering, "I dreamed the very same
thing. I too was a pretty little bird, and I too could imitate all kinds
of sounds as I fluttered in the tree-tops. Surely, the dream will come
true for one of us. How fine that would be!"
"Yes, let it be for the one of us who first rises to-morrow morning,"
said Zaïca. And so the two friends agreed.
Now when it came night-time Zaïca went to bed very early, like a wise
little girl who wants to rise with the sun. But Tourtourelle said to
herself, "I know what I will do, I will not go to sleep. I will sit up
all night, and then I am sure to be the first to rise."
So Tourtourelle perched herself on a high-backed chair and stretched her
eyes wide open. For hours and hours she sat there, growing more sleepy
every minute. Towards morning she began to nod; she could hardly keep
her eyes open, though she tried to prop the lids with her finger tips.
Finally, whether she would or no, she fell fast asleep, poor little
Tourtourelle, worn out with her long vigil.
When the first morning sunbeam peeped into the chamber Zaïca opened her
eyes, refreshed and smiling. She sat up in bed remembering the dream,
and then jumped lightly to the floor. As she did so she glanced at her
feet, which felt queer. Wonderful! They were little bird claws! She
looked down at herself. She was covered with soft feathers. She tried to
move her arms, and when she did so she rose lightly from the floor and
skimmed out of the window into the garden. Zaïca had become a pretty
little bird, just as she had dreamed. Oh, how happy she was! She heard a
Lark singing far up in the sky. Opening her mouth, she warbled and
trilled as well as he, until he dropped down quickly to the earth,
thinking it must be his mate who sang so sweetly. She spied a Chicken
strayed too far from the mother Hen; and chuckling to herself
mischievously she imitated the warning cry of a Hawk, till the Chick ran
squawking back to the shelter of his mother's wing. She heard a hound
baying afar off, and with little trouble echoed the sound so perfectly
that a groom came running out of the stable, whistling for the dog which
he feared was straying from the kennel. Zaïca found that as in her dream
she could imitate all the sounds which she heard; and she was so pleased
that she sang and sang and sang, hopping from tree to tree, teasing the
other birds with her mockery, and puzzling them, too.
As for poor Tourtourelle, when she waked it was very late. She yawned
and rubbed her eyes languidly, for she was still sleepy. Then looking
across to Zaïca's bed she saw that it was empty. Her heart gave a great
thump, for she longed and longed to be a bird, but now she feared that
she was too late. In her white gown she ran out into the garden looking
for Zaïca. But first she saw an old man leading his cow to the pasture.
And to the cow he said, "Coo-roo, coo-roo!" coaxing her to hasten.
"Coo-roo, coo-roo!" cried Tourtourelle, imitating him, she knew not why.
And as she said it she wondered at the strange feeling which came over
her. For her body felt very light and it seemed as if she could fly. She
looked down and saw that she was no longer covered with a little white
gown but with soft feathers of ashy gray, while wings sprouted from her
shoulders.
"Oh, I have become a bird!" she tried to say, but all she uttered
was--"Coo-roo, coo-roo!" For Tourtourelle was become a beautiful
Turtle-Dove, and that is all a Turtle-Dove can say.
"Coo-roo, coo-roo!" mocked a voice from the tree. And cocking her little
reddish eye Tourtourelle saw a brilliant Jay hopping in the branches,
imitating a Dove. Then it was the song of a Wren that she heard, then a
Lark, then a Thrush, then a Sparrow-Hawk,--all these sounds coming from
the one little throat of the happy bird on that bough. Tourtourelle
tried to do likewise, but all she could sing was "Coo-roo! coo-roo!" And
she said mournfully to herself:--
"It is Zaïca. She was wiser than I, and earlier, and the dream came
true for her. Oh dear! Oh dear!" And to this day Turtle-Dove flies about
sadly uttering her monotonous cry, and listening with a longing that
would be envy, were she not so good a little bird, to the chatter of her
friend the Jay.
For Zaïca the Jay is always merry, hopping from tree to tree, playing
her jokes upon the other birds whom she deceives with her wonderful
voice. And she leads a life so gay and exciting that she never finds
time to be sad, even over the disappointment of her dear friend, poor
little Tourtourelle.