But it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good. Before Muscadel had got his breath after the shock of that dreadful web he saw a slow, wrinkled-skinned creature, with bright yellow eyes, quite close to him. It was a toad, and he knew that toads eat spiders. 'Oh, a spider's life isn't worth living!' he cried; 'I wish I was a toad.' And, of course, he was, for the magic jewel was still on his front foot. Now that Muscadel was a toad he felt he should like to find a quiet damp place to live in, so he crawled to the edge of the basin of the palace fountain. And when he had found a nice damp crack in the marble he squeezed in and stayed there for some days. But one day, when he went out for a breath of air and a woodlouse or two, a great beak clattered quite near him, and startled him so that he nearly jumped out of his toad's skin. The person with a beak was a stork, and Muscadel knew what the stork wanted. 'Oh, a toad's life is a dog's life,' said Muscadel; 'I wish I was a stork.' So he was a stork, and the magic jewel, grown bigger, was round his right leg. It was fine to be a stork, and he did not envy even the golden eagle that flew down to drink at the fountain. And when the eagle came within a yard or two of him he felt so large and brave that he said: 'Keep to your own side, will you? Where are you shoving to?' The golden eagle, whose temper is very short, looked at him with evil golden eyes, and said: 'You'll soon see where I am shoving to,' and flew at him. Muscadel saw that he had made a mistake that might cost him his life. 'Oh, what's the good of being a stork?' he said. 'I wish I was an eagle.' And as soon as he was one he flew away, leaving the other eagle with its beak open in amazement, too much 'struck of a heap,' as he told his wife afterwards, to follow the new bird and finish off their quarrel in the air. 'Oh, how grand it is to be an eagle!' said Muscadel, sailing on widespread wings; and just as he said it an arrow caught him under the left wing. It hurt horribly. 'What a powerful thing an arrow is!' he said. 'Dear me, how it hurts! I wish I was an arrow.' So he was one, but he was an arrow in the quiver of a very stupid bowman, who shot next day at a buzzard and missed it. So the arrow, which was Muscadel, lodged high in an oak-tree, and the stupid bowman could not get it down again. 'I don't like being a slave to a mere bow,' said Muscadel; 'I'll be a bow myself.' But when he was a bow the archer who owned him hurt his bow-back so in fitting him with a new string that he got very cross, and said: 'This is worse slavery than the other. I want to be an archer.' So he was an archer. And as it happened he was one of the King's archers. The magic jewel was round his arm like a bracelet, and no one saw it, for he kept it hidden up his arm under the sleeve of his buff coat.