and now only one.
Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!"
then he too looked up and the last one had left off work.
"Bird," he said, "what a beautiful song that is you sing! let me hear it too, sing it again."
"Nay," answered the bird "I do not sing twice for nothing; give me that mill-stone, and I will sing it again."
If it belonged to me alone," said the man, "you should have it."
"Yes, yes," said the others, "if he will sing again, he can have it."
The bird came down, and all the twenty millers set to and lifted up the stone with a beam; then the bird put his head through the hole and took the stone round his neck like a collar, and flew back with it to the tree and sang—
"My mother killed her little son;
My father grieved when I was gone;
My sister loved me best of all;
She laid her kerchief over me,
And took my bones that they might lie
Underneath the juniper tree.
Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!"
And when he had finished his song, he spread his wings, and with the chain in his right claw, the shoes in his left, and the mill-stone round his neck, he flew right away to his father's house.
The father, the mother, and little Marleen were having their dinner.
"How lighthearted I feel," said the father, "so pleased and cheerful."
