In the old days of hunting, before gunpowder was invented, when bows and arrows were used, in some spots of Europe falcons were trained to help them in the hunt. This bird is a species of hawk, and, if we are to believe history, these fellows were really faithful and efficient. The falcon would soar into the air, survey the country round about, and, if he discovered the deer, with the shriek of his voice or the flap of his wings, he guided his master to the game.
Now the king had been out hunting with his fellow noblemen but he had got lost. In fact, he had separated from his friends and the commissary department two days before. He had with him his trained falcon that rested on his wrist. The king was nearly starved to death as was the bird but worse than the call for food was his thirst. He got so desperate for water that he would have eaten mud. His tongue was as thick as leather; his eyes were bulging with concern; his eyes had desperately scanned every rock for some signs of moisture. He and his falcon were pretty nearly dead. The monarch could hardly pull one foot in front of the other.
But lo and behold, off a hundred yards he detected something that looked like dripping water. It was! New strength came into his veins. He automatically leaped forward with the cup he always carried with him, the falcon, of course, ever present on his wrist.
Drip, drip, drip, and the cup was finally full. The king was just putting it to his lips when his falcon knocked the cup from his hands. Had the bird gone crazy? He