The Grimm Conclusion Read Online Free PDF Page B

exclaimed (yes, he was talking to a bird). “Bird! That’s the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard! Sing it again!”
    But the bird said, “I never sing twice for free. Give me your finest golden chain, and I’ll sing it again.” (Yes, apparently the bird spoke back.)
    So the goldsmith rushed into his house, got the finest golden chain he had—all covered with diamonds and emeralds and rubies—and brought it out to the bird. The bird clasped it in one of its little claws, sang the song again, and flew away.
    Next the bird flew to a cobbler’s house. He perched on an eave and sang:
    My father, he killed me,
    My mother, she ate me,
    My sister, Jorinda, buried my bones
    â€™Neath the juniper tree.
    Kewitt! Kewitt!
    What a beautiful bird am I!
    The cobbler instantly burst out of his house. “That’s the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard!” he cried. (Okay, he’s talking to a bird, too.) “Bird, will you sing it again?”
    But the bird said, “I never sing twice for free. Give me a pair of your prettiest, daintiest shoes, and I’ll sing it again.”
    So the cobbler rushed into his house and brought out a pair of tiny red shoes and handed them to the bird, who took them with his other claw. Then he sang his song again and flew away.
    Finally, he came to the mill.
    Do you know what a mill is? You don’t see them around much anymore, so let me tell you. A mill is where people used to bring their grain to be ground into flour. The grain would be put between two enormous stones. Each stone weighed about as much as a small automobile, and each had a hole in the center that a wooden pole passed through. And men, or donkeys, or oxen, would push the huge stones around and around to grind the grain.
    Okay. You needed to know that for the story.
    So the bird landed on an eave of the mill and began to sing.
    My father, he killed me—
    Inside the mill, ten men pushed the giant stone wheels around a great wooden dowel, grinding the grain into flour.
    My mother, she ate me—
    Two men stopped pushing the millstones and listened.
    My sister, Jorinda, buried my bones
—
    Two more men stopped pushing the millstones. The other six men grunted and groaned under the strain of turning the enormous wheels.
    â€™Neath the juniper tree.
    Two more men stopped pushing. The other men could barely move the stones now.
    Kewitt! Kewitt!
    Two more men stopped to listen to the song.
    What a beautiful bird am I!
    The last two men could no longer move the stones an inch. They heard the final notes of the song. They threw open the windows of the mill. “That was the most beautiful song we’ve ever heard,” they cried (because apparently everyone in this town talks to birds). “Will you sing it again?”
    And the bird said, “I never sing twice for free. Give me one of your millstones, and I’ll sing it again.”
    Now, the millstones belonged to the miller. They weren’t the men’s to give. But they wanted to hear the song again so badly that all ten of them bent their legs and heaved a millstone onto their shoulders and staggered with it out the great wooden doors of the mill. The bird bent his little head and the men slipped the hole at the center of the wheel right over it, so the bird had the giant millstone around his neck.
    How, you might ask, did a tiny bird support a millstone that weighed as much as a small automobile?
    That’s a good question.
    My answer? I have no clue.
    He just did.
    So get over it.
    The bird sang the song for the miller’s men again. And then he flew back to the house with the juniper tree.
    The little bird flew around and around the house, singing his song. Inside, the stepfather and mother and the little girl still sat at the table.
    My father, he killed me,
the bird sang.
    The stepfather suddenly felt as if an arrow had pierced his heart. “I don’t feel so well,” he said.
    My