The birds of passage often paid a visit to the weather-cock, and told him tales of foreign lands, of large companies passing through the air, and exciting stories of encounters with robbers and birds of prey. These were very interesting when heard for the first time, but the weather-cock knew they always repeated themselves, which made it tedious to listen. “They are tedious, and so is every one else; there is no one fit to associate with. One and all of them are wearisome and stupid. The whole world is worth nothing—it is made up of stupidity.”
The weather-cock was what is called “stuck up,” and that quality alone would have made him interesting in the eyes of the cucumber had she known it, but she had only eyes for the yard-cock, who had actually made his appearance in her own yard; for the violence of the storm had passed, but the wind had blown down the wooden palings.
“What do you think of that for crowing?” asked the yard-cock of his hens and chickens. It was rather rough, and wanted elegance, but they did not say so, as they stepped upon the dung-hill, while the cock strutted about amongst them as if he had been a knight. “Garden plant,” he cried to the cucumber, and she heard the words with deep feeling: they showed that he understood who she was, and she forgot that he was pecking at her, and eating her up—a happy death! Then the hens came running up, and the chickens followed, for where one runs the rest run also; and they clucked and chirped, and looked at the cock, and were proud that they belonged to him. “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” crowed he; “the chickens in the poultry-yard will grow large fowls if I make my voice heard in the world.” And the hens and chickens clucked and chirped, and the cock told them a great piece of news. “A cock can lay an egg,” he said; “and what do you think is in that egg? In that egg lies a basilisk. No one can endure the sight of a basilisk. Men know my power, and now you know what I am capable of also, and what a renowned bird I am.” And with this the yard-cock flapped his wings, and erected his comb, and crowed again, till they all trembled, even the hens and chickens; but they were proud that one of their race should be of such renown in the world. They clucked and they chirped so that the weather-cock heard it: he had heard it all, but never stirred. “It’s all stupid stuff,” said a voice within the weather-cock, “the yard-cock does not lay eggs any more than I do, and I am too lazy. I could lay a wind egg if I liked, but the world is not worth a wind egg. And now I don’t intend to sit here any longer.” And with that the weather-cock broke off and fell into the yard. He did not kill the yard-cock, although the hens said he intended to do so. And what does the moral say, “Better to crow than to be ‘stuck up’ and break down at last.”
