'Peep, peep, pe—weep!' replied the bird, very sorrowiully.
Then it flew towards the edge of the cliff, and looked round at them, as if exceedingly anxious that they should return whence they came. Eurylochus and a few of the others were inclined to turn back. They could not help suspecting that the purple bird must be aware of something mischievous that would befall them at the palace, and the knowledge of which affected its airy spirit with a human sympathy and sorrow. But the rest of the voyagers, snuffing up the smoke from the palace kitchen, ridiculed the idea of returning to the vessel. One of them (more brutal than his fellows, and the most notorious gormandiser in the whole crew) said such a cruel and wicked thing, that I wonder the mere thought did not turn him into a wild beast, in shape, as he already was in his nature.
'This troublesome and impertinent little fowl,' said he, 'would make a delicate titbit to begin dinner with. Just one plump morsel, melting away between the teeth. If he comes within my reach I'll catch him, and give him to the palace cook to be roasted on a skewer.'
The words were hardly out of his mouth, before the purple bird flew away, crying, 'Peep, peep, pe—weep,' more dolorously than ever.
'That bird,' remarked Eurylochus, 'knows more than we do about what awaits us at the palace.'
'Come on, then,' cried his comrades, 'and we'll soon know as much as he does.'
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