One autumn morning, when the hazel leaves had turned the color of warm bread, a cockerel and a hen set out together to gather nuts on the hill. The hen walked carefully, pecking here and there, while the cockerel scratched with both feet and tossed the leaves behind him in a lively shower. Under the first hazel bush they found two bright nuts. The hen took one, but the cockerel took the other and swallowed it at once.
Under the second bush they found three more. The hen picked up one and laid the others in a little heap, but the cockerel darted in, snapped up the heap, and gulped them down before the shells had even stopped rolling. The hen lifted her head. “Brother Cockerel,” she said, “leave one for later.” But under the third bush there was a large brown nut, smooth as a polished bead, and the cockerel cried, “This one is mine!” He swallowed that as well.
Then he grew still. His red comb leaned to one side, and his bright eye blinked once, then twice. He opened his beak, but no song came out. “Hen,” he whispered at last, “bring me water, or I shall stay here under the hazel bush.”
The hen did not scold him, but tucked her wings close and hurried down the hill to the brook. “Brook,” she said, “give me water for the cockerel. A nut has stopped his song.” The brook ran over pebbles and answered, “I will give …
6 chapters
