Well, one day long ago, in the green time of the year, the young
archer rode through the forest on his horse of power. The trees were
green; there were little blue flowers on the ground under the trees;
the squirrels ran in the branches, and the hares in the undergrowth;
but no birds sang. The young archer rode along the forest path and
listened for the singing of the birds, but there was no singing. The
forest was silent, and the only noises in it were the scratching of
four-footed beasts, the dropping of fir cones, and the heavy stamping
of the horse of power in the soft path.

"What has come to the birds?" said the young archer.

He had scarcely said this before he saw a big curving feather lying in
the path before him. The feather was larger than a swan's, larger than
an eagle's. It lay in the path, glittering like a flame; for the sun
was on it, and it was a feather of pure gold. Then he knew why there
was no singing in the forest. For he knew that the fire-bird had flown
that way, and that the feather in the path before him was a feather
from its burning breast.

The horse of power spoke and said,--

"Leave the golden feather where it lies. If you take it you will be
sorry for it, and know the meaning of fear."

But the brave young archer sat on the horse of power and looked at
the golden feather, and wondered whether to take it or not. He had no
wish to learn what it was to be afraid, but he thought, "If I take it
and bring it to the Tzar my master, he will be pleased; and he will
not send me away with empty hands, for no Tzar in the world has a