The raven spread his wings and flew far away up the river, and when he had gone nearly a hundred miles, he saw the Emperor’s palace underneath him. He lit upon the roof and began to caw and squall at the top of his voice, and to dance in such a way that everybody below crowded to look at him. The Emperor, who was inside, put out his head to see what all the laughter meant. The tears had been running down his face as he thought of his two little girls who had disappeared so strangely, and his nose was quite red, poor old gentleman, but he rubbed his face on his silk handkerchief and went down to the courtyard, followed by his Prime Minister. All the servants were collected and were staring up at the raven. “What is all this about?” inquired the Prime Minister, as he strutted after his master. “Sir, it is a raven which is dancing on the roof in a very diverting manner,” said a bystander. The Prime Minister was accustomed to be the principal person in any crowd, and he was not best pleased at finding himself scarcely regarded; nobody was regarding the Emperor either, but he did not think of that. He put on his spectacles and looked up. “How very unsuitable!” he exclaimed, turning his back. “Really, what we are all coming to _I_ don’t know!” The bird danced still more extravagantly, and even the Emperor began to smile. “Come down from there immediately!” shouted the Prime Minister; “I wonder you are not ashamed of making such an exhibition of yourself.” “All right,” said the bird; and he flew down, alighting at his Majesty’s feet, making so polished an obeisance that all were astonished. The Emperor was much gratified. “What can I do for you?” he inquired. “I have important news,” replied the bird, “and I would ask to communicate it.” “Impudent scoundrel!” exclaimed the Prime Minister, “your right place would be in the cooking-pot if you were not so nasty.” “It would certainly be fitter for me than for you,” observed the raven, “seeing that you are old and tough and that I am young and tender.” “Your Majesty must not think of giving the audience unattended,” said the Prime Minister; “this disreputable creature may have some design upon your royal life. Someone should be present.” “Anyone, so long as it is not yourself,” replied the raven. And with that, he hopped into the palace in front of the Emperor, who was too much agitated to notice the breach of etiquette. The Prime Minister hurried after, hoping to get in also, but he was too late, for the guard who stood at the door shut it behind his Majesty according to custom. The Emperor seated himself and the bird stood respectfully before him. “Is it anything about my poor little daughters that you have come to tell me?” he asked, looking very pitifully into the raven’s face. “Your Majesty is right,” was the reply. “I myself saw them, not twenty-four hours ago, but in great distress. The Sorcerer Badoko has stolen them away.”