Early the next morning she called the maid Marie, gave her a silver piece, and said, “Go and get some eggs for breakfast.”
“Oh, madame!” she asked sorrowfully, “do you mean that I must take the eggs of the dear little birds that sing in the forest?”
“Of course not,” her mistress replied, thinking her very silly, “I want hen’s eggs, not bird’s eggs.”
But Marie looked more amazed than before.
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘hens,’” she said. “We have none of them here.”
“You have no hens!” the woman exclaimed. “How can that be?”
Then she remembered that this was a village of poor peasants and that only the rich had chickens, because they had just been brought to Europe from Asia, and were very costly. So she bade the old man Kuno go to the city across the mountains and bring her everything she needed.
“And be sure not to forget the cock and hens,” she called after him as he rode away.
Late that afternoon the man returned, and the woman met him at the door. “Have you brought the chickens?” she asked.
Nodding in reply, he set the cage on the ground.
By this time the village children had gathered around, and were greatly excited about the strange-looking birds. They laughed and clapped their hands, for they never had seen anything like them, and when Kuno turned them out of the cage and they walked around picking up the grain he threw to them, their joy knew no bounds. Then the cock flapped his wings and crowed and some of the hens cackled, and the children danced and screamed in delight. They stayed until it was dark, and early the next morning came again and brought their fathers and mothers to see the wonderful birds that sang such curious songs.
Summer passed and autumn came. The last apples fell from the trees, nuts dropped in the frost-painted forest, and the sharp winds of November blew down from the peaks, yet still the lovely stranger and her children stayed in the village. That was very strange, for the valley was entirely surrounded by rugged mountains, and was a rough, wild country in winter, when the tiny houses were almost buried in the snow. But they seemed happy there, and the people wondered much about it. They talked of it as they herded the goats on the slopes, as they burned charcoal in the shadow of the fir trees, and always would end by saying, “She is some great lady, for she speaks the language of court, and she and her children have costly clothes and many gold pieces.”