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Zaïca found that as in her dream she could imitate all the sounds which she heard; and she was so pleased that she sang and sang and sang, hopping from tree to tree, teasing the other birds with her mockery, and puzzling them, too. As for poor Tourtourelle, when she waked it was very late. She yawned and rubbed her eyes languidly, for she was still sleepy.
"Coo-roo, coo-roo!" cried Tourtourelle, imitating him, she knew not why. And as she said it she wondered at the strange feeling which came over her. For her body felt very light and it seemed as if she could fly. She looked down and saw that she was no longer covered with a little white gown but with soft feathers of ashy gray, while wings sprouted from her shoulders.
One morning Zaïca woke up and said, "O Tourtourelle! Last night I had such a strange dream!" "And so did I!" cried Tourtourelle. "Let us tell each other the dreams. But you first, Zaïca." Zaïca began to laugh. "I dreamed I was a pretty bird with a tuft of feathers on my head. I could fly, and, O Tourtourelle! it was great fun!
For hours and hours she sat there, growing more sleepy every minute. Towards morning she began to nod; she could hardly keep her eyes open, though she tried to prop the lids with her finger tips. Finally, whether she would or no, she fell fast asleep, poor little Tourtourelle, worn out with her long vigil.
Partridge had no more sense than to be angry with Madame Tortoise, which I think was very unfair, don't you? For the latter had only done as she was bidden by her silly and conceited neighbor. But after that the Tortoise and the Partridge never spoke to each other, and their children would not play together at school. There were once two girls who were very dear friends, Zaïca and Tourtourelle.
Then it was the song of a Wren that she heard, then a Lark, then a Thrush, then a Sparrow-Hawk, all these sounds coming from the one little throat of the happy bird on that bough. Tourtourelle tried to do likewise, but all she could sing was "Coo-roo! coo-roo!" And she said mournfully to herself: "It is Zaïca. She was wiser than I, and earlier, and the dream came true for her. Oh dear! Oh dear!"
"Oh, I have become a bird!" she tried to say, but all she uttered was "Coo-roo, coo-roo!" For Tourtourelle was become a beautiful Turtle-Dove, and that is all a Turtle-Dove can say. "Coo-roo, coo-roo!" mocked a voice from the tree. And cocking her little reddish eye Tourtourelle saw a brilliant Jay hopping in the branches, imitating a Dove.
But the most amusing thing of all was that I could sing so finely, and mock all the birds of the forest. Nay, I could even imitate the sounds of animals. I cannot help laughing when I think what a jolly time I had." "Why, Zaïca!" cried Tourtourelle, wondering, "I dreamed the very same thing.
Now when it came night-time Zaïca went to bed very early, like a wise little girl who wants to rise with the sun. But Tourtourelle said to herself, "I know what I will do, I will not go to sleep. I will sit up all night, and then I am sure to be the first to rise." So Tourtourelle perched herself on a high-backed chair and stretched her eyes wide open.
And she leads a life so gay and exciting that she never finds time to be sad, even over the disappointment of her dear friend, poor little Tourtourelle. Once upon a time, our friend Blackbird, who comes first of the feathered brothers in the spring, was not black at all. No, indeed; he was white white as feather-snow new fallen in the meadow.
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