He had thought it not unlikely that a raven, or a crow, or a jackdaw, or
a magpie, had found his bell, and from its thievish disposition, which
attracts it to anything bright and shining, had carried it into its
nest. With this thought he turned himself into a beautiful little bird,
and searched all the nests in the island, and he'd sang before all kinds
of birds to see if they had found what he had lost, and could restore to
him his sleep. He had, however, been able to learn nothing from the
birds. As he now, one evening, was flying over the waters of Ralov and
the fields of Unrich, the shepherd's boy, whose name was John
Schlagenteufel (Smite-devil), happened to be keeping his sheep there at
the very time. Several of the sheep had bells about their necks, and
they tinkled merrily when the boy's dog set them trotting. The little
bird who was flying over them thought of his bell, and sang in a
melancholy tone----

"Little bell, little bell,
Little ram as well,
You, too, little sheep,
If you've my tingle too,
No sheep's so rich as you,
My rest you keep."

The boy looked up and listened to this strange song which came out of
the sky, and saw the pretty bird, which seemed to him still more
strange.

"If one," said he to himself, "had but that bird that's singing up
there, so plain that one of us could hardly match him! What can he mean
by that wonderful song? The whole of it is, it must be a feathered
witch. My rams have only pinchbeck bells, he calls them rich cattle; but