Once upon a time there lived a cock-sparrow and his wife, who were
both growing old. But despite his years the cock-sparrow was a gay,
festive old bird, who plumed himself upon his appearance, and was
quite a ladies' man. So he cast his eyes on a lively young hen, and
determined to marry her, for he was tired of his sober old wife. The
wedding was a mighty grand affair, and everybody as jolly and merry as
could be, except of course the poor old wife, who crept away from all
the noise and fun to sit disconsolately on a quiet branch just under a
crow's nest, where she could be as melancholy as she liked without
anybody poking fun at her.
Now while she sat there it began to rain, and after a while the drops,
soaking through the crow's nest, came drip-dripping on to her
feathers; she, however, was far too miserable to care, and sat there
all huddled up and peepy till the shower was over. Now it so happened
that the crow had used some scraps of dyed cloth in lining its nest,
and as these became wet the colours ran, and dripping down on to the
poor old hen-sparrow beneath, dyed her feathers until she was as gay
as a peacock.
Fine feathers make fine birds, we all know, and she really looked
quite spruce; so much so, that when she flew home, the new wife nearly
burst with envy, and asked her at once where she had found such a
lovely dress.
'Easily enough,' replied the old wife; 'I just went into the dyer's
vat.'
The bride instantly determined to go there also. She could not endure
the notion of the old thing being better dressed than she was, so she
flew off at once to the dyer's, and being in a great hurry, went pop
into the middle of the vat, without waiting to see if it was hot or
cold. It turned out to be just scalding; consequently the poor thing
was half boiled before she managed to scramble out. Meanwhile, the
gay old cock, not finding his bride at home, flew about distractedly
in search of her, and you may imagine what bitter tears he wept when
he found her, half drowned and half boiled, with her feathers all
awry, lying by the dyer's vat.
'What has happened?' quoth he.