``As for yours, as
good might be plucked from any hedge, I wonder
a sensible bird would carry the like so far.''
``Good master cobbler,'' cried the cuckoo,
finishing its slice, ``your conclusions are more
hasty than courteous. If your brother is
disappointed this time, I go on the same journey every
year, and for your hospitable entertainment will
think it no trouble to bring each of you whichever
leaf you desire.''
``Darling cuckoo,'' cried Scrub, ``bring me a
golden one.''
And Spare, looking up from the green leaf on
which he gazed as though it were a crown-jewel,
said:--
``Be sure to bring me one from the merry tree.''
And away flew the cuckoo.
``This is the feast of All Fools, and it ought to
be your birthday,'' said Scrub. ``Did ever man
fling away such an opportunity of getting rich?
Much good your merry leaves will do in the
midst of rags and poverty!''
But Spare laughed at him, and answered with
quaint old proverbs concerning the cares that
come with gold, till Scrub, at length getting
angry, vowed his brother was not fit to live with a
respectable man; and taking his lasts, his awls,
and his golden leaf, he left the wattle hut, and
went to tell the villagers.
They were astonished at the folly of Spare, and
charmed with Scrub's good sense, particularly
when he showed them the golden leaf, and told
that the cuckoo would bring him one every spring.
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