Every morning it used to sing
at the door of his house.
Now, the little old woman was a cross old thing,
and one day when she was going to starch her
linen, the sparrow pecked at her paste. Then she
flew into a great rage and cut the sparrow's tongue
and let the bird fly away.
When the little old man came home from the
hills, where he had been chopping wood, he found
the sparrow gone.
``Where is my little sparrow?'' asked he.
``It pecked at my starching-paste,'' answered
the little old woman, ``so I cut its evil tongue and
let it fly away.''
``Alas! Alas!'' cried the little old man. ``Poor
thing! Poor thing! Poor little tongue-cut sparrow!
Where is your home now?''
And then he wandered far and wide seeking his
pet and crying:--
``Mr. Sparrow, Mr. Sparrow, where are you
living?''
And he wandered on and on, over mountain
and valley, and dale and river, until one day at
the foot of a certain mountain he met the lost bird.
The little old man was filled with joy and the
sparrow welcomed him with its sweetest song.
It led the little old man to its nest-house,
introduced him to its wife and small sparrows, and set
before him all sorts of good things to eat and
drink.
``Please partake of our humble fare,'' sang the
sparrow; ``poor as it is, you are welcome.''
``What a polite sparrow,'' answered the little
old man, and he stayed for a long time as the
bird's guest.
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