On his return he did not fail to interrogate the parrot on what had passed while he was away; and the bird very expertly related a few circumstances, which occasioned the husband to reprimand his wife. She supposed that some of her slaves had exposed her, but they all assured her they were faithful, and agreed in charging the parrot with the crime. Desirous of being convinced of the truth of this matter, the wife devised a method of quieting the suspicions of her husband, and at the same time of revenging herself on the parrot, if he were the culprit. The next time the husband was absent, she ordered one of her slaves, during the night, to turn a handmill under the bird’s cage, and another to throw water over it like rain, and a third to wave a looking-glass before the parrot by the light of a candle. The slaves were employed the greatest part of the night in doing what their mistress had ordered them, and succeeded to her satisfaction. The following day, when the husband returned, he again applied to the parrot to be informed of what had taken place. The bird replied, “My dear master, the lightning, the thunder, and the rain, have so disturbed me the whole night, that I cannot tell you how much I have suffered.” The husband, who knew there had been no storm that night, became convinced that the parrot did not always relate facts; and that having told an untruth in this particular, he had also deceived him with respect to his wife: being therefore extremely enraged with it, he took the bird out of the cage, and dashing it on the floor, killed it: he, however, afterwards learnt from his neighbours, that the poor parrot had told no story of the conduct of his wife, which made him repent of having destroyed it. “When the Greek king,” said the fisherman to the Genius, “had finished the story of the parrot, he added, “You, vizier, through envy of Douban, who has done you no evil, wish me to order his death, but I will take good care, lest, like the husband who killed his parrot, I should afterwards repent.”