'In the window was an old quill pen. There was nothing
remarkable about her except that she had been dipped too deeply
into the ink. But she was very proud of that.

'"If the urn will not sing," said she, "outside the door hangs a
nightingale in a cage who will sing."

'"I don't think it's proper," said the kettle, "that such a
foreign bird should be heard."

'"Oh, let us have some acting," said everyone. "Do let us!"

'Suddenly the door opened and the maid came in. Everyone was
quite quiet. There was not a sound. But each pot knew what he
might have done, and how grand he was.

'The maid took the matches and lit the fire with them. How they
spluttered and flamed, to be sure! "Now everyone can see," they
thought, "that we are the grandest! How we sparkle! What a
light-"

'But here they were burnt out.'

'That was a delightful story!' said the sultana. 'I quite feel
myself in the kitchen with the matches. Yes, now you shall marry
our daughter.'

'Yes, indeed,' said the sultan, 'you shall marry our daughter on
Monday.' And they treated the young man as one of the family.