"O, master of many tongues," began Gay-Neck on our own roof, "I could abide not more than a day in that man's house! He gave me insect-infected grain to eat, and made me drink water that was not fresh. After all, I am a soul; why should I be treated as a stone or shard? Moreover, he tied my wings with evil-smelling fishing tackle. Would I stay with such an one? Never! So hardly had he put me on the white roof of his house and gone downstairs, than I flapped my wings and flew. Alas! my wings were heavy, and it hurt me to fly. So I fell on the awning of a shop in the lane nearby. There I sat waiting and watching for help. I saw some swifts go by; I called to them but they were not my friends. I saw a wild pigeon; I called, but he too made no response. Just then I beheld a dark cat coming towards me. Here was death on four feet. As it drew nearer and nearer, its topaz eyes burnt with red. It crouched and made ready to spring. I, too, sprang--clear over his head on to the cornice about five feet above the awning, where a swift had made his home. Though it was most difficult, I clung to that spot until the black one vanished. Now I leaped again. Four or five feet above me was the roof. There I perched. But my wing hurt. In order to ease my pain I massaged the roots of my feathers. One by one my beak pressed and rubbed them, and then something slipped. One small feather I had succeeded in pressing out of the grip of the fishing tackle which stank exceedingly. I kept on rubbing and pressing the next feather, and behold it too was free. Oh, what a glorious feeling! Soon the entire wing was free. Just then the black cat reappeared on the roof, but now I was able to fly about ten feet and I reached the cornice of a high building, where I found a convenient perch. Thence I watched the deadly cat. He crouched and sprang upon the fishing tackle just shed from my wing. That told me a new story: it was the stench of the fishing tackle that had attracted him, and not me. Forthwith I began to bite and press the cord that bound my other wing. By the time I had freed half the feathers night came on, and when I had thrown my last evil-smelling chain away from my wing, I was forced to await the dawn to fly home, for owls fly in the early twilight, and hawks come later, and I wished to have a safe path through the air. Now I am at home--I am hungry and thirsty."