as they arrived they remarked a stork strutting up and down with a
stately air, hunting for frogs, and now and then muttering
something to itself. At the same time they saw another stork far
above in the sky flying towards the same spot.

'I would wager my beard, most gracious master,' said the Grand
Vizier, 'that these two long legs will have a good chat together.
How would it be if we turned ourselves into storks?'

'Well said,' replied the Caliph; 'but first let us remember
carefully how we are to become men once more. True! Bow three
times towards the east and say "Mutabor!" and I shall be Caliph
and you my Grand Vizier again. But for Heaven's sake don't laugh
or we are lost!'

As the Caliph spoke he saw the second stork circling round his
head and gradually flying towards the earth. Quickly he drew the
box from his girdle, took a good pinch of the snuff, and offered
one to Mansor, who also took one, and both cried together
'Mutabor!'

Instantly their legs shrivelled up and grew thin and red; their
smart yellow slippers turned to clumsy stork's feet, their arms to
wings; their necks began to sprout from between their shoulders
and grew a yard long; their beards disappeared, and their bodies
were covered with feathers.

'You've got a fine long bill, Sir Vizier,' cried the Caliph, after
standing for some time lost in astonishment. 'By the beard of the
Prophet I never saw such a thing in all my life!'