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LITTLE HALF-CHICK
A Spanish Folk Tale
Once upon a time there was a Hen who made
a nest for herself in one corner of a sunny farm-
yard in Spain. The nest was close against the white-
washed wall of the house and was snug and well
sheltered. There Mother Hen raised a brood of
small chicks. Fluffy and yellow and beautiful did
they come from the shell. Very good little chicks
they were, too — all but one, and that one — Oh,
dear me! When his mother called to him, “Cluck!
Cluck! Cluck!” he never did what she told him.
When she bade him come here, he went there; when
she bade him do this, he did that! He always
gobbled the choicest morsels of food in the yard,
and he wanted his own way in all things.
One day when the whole family were scratching
about in the dust. Mother ^
Hen noticed suddenly that
this little chick had only
half a head, and half a
body, and half a tail, and
one eye, and one wing, and
one leg!
“Dear me! Dear me!
What in the world is the
matter with my chick?”
clucked Mother Hen in
dismay. “How did he
ever come to be such a
queer little fellow?”
But very soon it be-
came quite plain even to good Mother Hen why this
chick was but a half-chick. No matter how hard she
tried to teach him to do what was right, he only tossed
his little half-head and flipped his little half-tail and
did exactly as he chose.
“Dear me! Dear me!” said Mother Hen sadly.
One day Little Half-Chick came hopping up to
his mother on his one little leg — stump, stump,
stump! And he said:
“Good-bye, mother! Tm off to the city to see
the King!”
“Off to the city!” cried poor Mother Hen. “Why,
you haven’t even learned yet how to behave in a
poultry yard! You’ll never get on in the city.
Stay here and learn from me, and, who knows,
you may still grow to be a whole-chick!”
But Little Half-Chick tossed his little half-head
and flipped his little half- tail and cried:
“I know enough without any teaching! This
life here is too quiet for me! Tm off to the King!”
And away he went with a hop and a skip —
stump, stump! stump, stump! stump, stump!
Over hill, over dale, past wheat field and barley
field, past olive grove and vineyard, past flocks of
woolly, merino sheep, with shepherds in sheepskins
and gay-colored blankets, — on, on, on, .hopped
Little Half-Chick — stump! stump! stump! up the
highway.
At length, when he had got some distance on
his journey, he reached a lonely place where he
came upon a little Stream. The Stream was choked
up with weeds, that held it there a prisoner, so
it could not go leaping on its way.
“O, Little Half-Chick, Little Half-Chick,” mur-
mured the Water, “the weeds have bound me fast
with their chains. Please stop and pull them away,
and set me free to go on my journey/’
But Little Half-Chick only tossed his little half-
head and flipped his little half-tail!
“Stop and set you free!” he cried. “Well, I
should think not! I haven’t the time to bother
with you! I’m off to the city to see the King!”
And for all the Brooklet’s beseeching, he went
on his way — stump! stump! stump!
A little farther along, what should Half-Chick
come upon but a Fire, whose flames were sinking
lower and lower, so that little more of it was left
than a mass of glowing red embers.
“Sticks! Give me sticks!” faintly sputtered the
Fire. “0h, Little Half-Chick, feed me with sticks
or I shall go out altogether!”
“Teed you with sticks!” cried Little Half-Chick.
“Well, I should think not! I haven’t the time
to bother with you!
rm off to the city to
see the King!”
And he tossed his
little half-head and
flipped his little half-
tail and went on his
way — stump ! stump !
stump !
Pretty soon Half-
Chick passed through
a thick wood, and there he found the Wind caught
tight in a clump of bushes.
“0, Little Half-Chick, Little Half-Chick,” faintly
whispered the Wind, “pray stop and pull these
bushes apart, and make a loophole for me to get out!”
“Stop and pull those bushes apart!” cried Little
Half-Chick. “Well, I should think not! Tve no
time to bother with you! Tm off to the city to
see the King!”
And he tossed his little half-head and flipped
his little half-tail and went on his way — stump!
stump! stump!
After a while, the road became crowded with
people, some riding mules with red leather har-
nesses, some on horseback, some driving wagons,
and some on foot. Ahead of him, he saw the great
wall of the city, with steeples and towers and gay-
colored roofs peeping over it. In the midst of the
crowd, he slipped through the city gate, up the
narrow, crooked little streets with tight-packed
houses on either side, through the market place,
where gaily dressed men and women danced to the
click of the castanets, till he came to the Palace
of the King.
There he stumped by a guard at the gate and
into the Palace yard. But it happened the gate
by which he had entered was a back gate, so,
instead of being at the grand entrance to the
Palace, he found himself in the kitchen yard. Just
as he was crossing the court, the King’s Cook
looked out of the window and spied him.
“Just the thing for the King’s dinner!” he cried.
“I was needing a chicken for the King’s soup!”
And he reached out the window, seized Little Half-
Chick, ran with him to the fire, took the cover
off a great pot, threw in a handful of onions, garlic,
tomatoes, and Spanish peppers, and after them
all, popped in Little Half-Chick ! Then he clapped
down the cover, bang!
It was dark enough inside the kettle; the water
rolled over Little Half-Chick and twirled him
round and round.
“0, Water! Water!” he cried, “Do not roll over
me and twirl me around! Help me! Help me!”
“Ah, Little Half-Chick,” bubbled the Water,
“when I was in need, you would not stop to help
me. What right have you to ask me to stop and
help you now?”
And he went on about his business of rolling
and twirling about in the pot.
Soon the water began to grow warm, very warm.
“Tire! Fire! Do not cook me!” cried Little
Half-Chick. But the Fire leaped up in strong,
bright flames.
“When I was in need, you would not stop to
help me!” he crackled. “What right have you to
ask me to stop and help you now?”
And he went on about his business of making
the water hotter.
Pretty soon the Cook took the cover off the pot,
to see how his soup was doing. As he stood there,
sniffing the onions and garlic and tomatoes and
Spanish peppers, along came the wind.
“O, Wind, Wind, help me!” cried Little Half-
Chick. “Get me out of this pot!”
“Ah, Little Half-Chick,” whistled the Wind,
“when I was in need, you would not stop to help
me. What right have you to ask me to stop and help
you now?”
But just as the Cook was about to clap down the
cover again on the kettle, the Wind did take Little Half-
Chick, whisk him out of the pot and out of the window.
Up, up, up, high over the roofs, high over the towers and
steeples he flew !
“Only a little half-chick would act as you have,”
roared the Wind, “and here’s the place for a little half-
chick!”
With that he dropped Half-Chick down bang on the
top of a steeple.
So Little Half-Chick found himself at last nothing
more than a weather-cock. There, fastened tight to the
top of the steeple, he stands to this very day on his one
little leg, and he never has his own way any more for he’s
simply twirled this way and that without even so much
as a by-your-leave, however the wind blows.
