Once upon a time, on a colorful tropical island, there lived a bright little parrot named Paula. The parrots all lived in the green forest by the sea, where the tall trees swayed in the wind, the blossoms had the most wonderful perfume, and the little birds sang all day long. But Paula said, “I do not dare go flying across the sea to the little green islands,” for she was afraid her red and blue wings would become tired. But this was not the real reason; the truth was she was afraid of the stormy wind that sometimes sprang up on the sea; it frightened her so that, when all the other parrots flew to the little boughs hanging over the water to sleep, she would creep close to the old woman’s little child and sleep on her arm or by her side.
“Oh, papa, papa,” cried the child, one evening, when the sky was of a dark blue and the sea was of purple, “do let us take Paula with us!” And the next evening the boat was ready, the sails were up, and they had entered it, placed Paula in the basket, and with the old woman and her little child and the favourite cat, had gone into the moonlit bright evening.
“Oh, how delightful to sail over the shimmering sea!” said the child; “it is brighter even than the sky above us!”
They sailed into a sort of bay on one of the little islands and landed in front of a thick wood, and without there being the slightest wind all the sails were taken down, and the cabin opened, so they could lie and see the stars glimmering and the waves splashing against the boat.
The morning dawned brightly, the sun shone, and everyone sprang up, even the poor cat, who had not slept at all all night, owing to the rocking of the boat. And now the parrots were let loose from the cage, and the little child laughed, for the red and yellow birds flew round her head, hopped about on her shoulders and pecked at the fringes on her dress and the lace on her collar.
They then heard, as they came out of the thick, shady wood, singing and whistling; and from the alley by which they walked came the sound of a flute-like song and the docile murmuring of a choir of birds. It came from a bird school where all the birds were being taught to sing and fly. Under overhanging branches on ropes made of strong bonds of split cane were big and little birds of all sizes: the lark with its crest, the nightingale with its soft voice, the henne with the long tail and blue head, the golden bellerin, the warbling flycatcher, all full of curiosity and pleasure at a bird of such a different plumage coming among them.
Now the bird-master with the quill and long wings had appeared, and the lesson began. First of all the blackbird tried its voice and squeaked like a violin which had not been well tuned; then the jackdaw squeaked like a whole harlequin party; and at last the canary with its sweet voice sang about the rose, the nightingale’s most favourite song. Then all the birds began their lessons afresh.
Paula could not sing near so sweetly; her voice was very hoarse, and kept taking all the notes a tone too high, which did not sound well; but as she could not sing well, so also she did not feel or act as the other birds did; she was all of discord, and that was the nature of the old bird-master who never let her sing nor keep time with the others. He said, “You can only hop on one leg, and that not only makes all the other birds laugh, but hinders the harmony, and the whole school has rules in which one branch of the tree cannot be pitched against the other.”
Paula went away into the interior of the island, for she was not happy; no one wanted to see her, and the birds she had formerly flown over were happy and danced for joy when the eagle blackbird called out and said, “There are feathers for a parcel.” And Paula went weeping back into the wood, where it was moist; cold drops fell like pearl from the leaves on her; she did not want to leave the island, for she had wished to see the sea; but when she must, brown eyes looked at her and said to her, “Courage: Fly with us the whole way!”
But Paula was afraid to fly over the water; her wings would become tired, she was not strong enough. But the eyes looked at her again earnestly, and she made up her mind, and flew along with the others, her little heart very near bursting with fright. It went on further and further; she had never seen such a thing as this vastness before, and she looked back at the little green island which soon became smaller till it was gone. The wind, too, had sprung up the whole way through, yet her comrades kept silence; they were not to speak.
Then there was quite a different wind from the right side, and the wavelets began to rise, it became rougher and rougher, and at last the rain began to pour down; the lightning cracked; the roaring thunder broke, and animals and men down in the boat lay trembling and moaning; the sailor held fast to the mast. It became dark, as if all eyes had been put out; everyone held fast to the ropes tight: an awful noise, water, more water; all was lost! Nothing was lost! It was the child’s voice calling out above the noise of the whirl of the waves and of the wind: “It is not so awful; do not forget to say the Ary Father’s prayer!” Paula clung fast to a string of the sail, and said the prayer: it sounded so like the storm, but so different, lower still; the ship whirled and turned. It was near that all hope would have fled if Paula had not clung to the mast. And now they heard a voice call, “Courage! You can all jump overboard from us to the shore! Only hold fast!” And all the sailors and the whole cargo jumped from the ship, and with her shipwrecked wares with a thousand sad heart floated down into the gloomy stormy sea.
And now bees and some swallows, as they flitted and hovered a while over the head of the old woman, held high the child who swam well, without stopping even for Paula, to the shore. The shipwrecked were received with joyful heart by the thri! The wind became quieter, the thunder and lightning became more distant, and the black clouds rolled away. The next day, on the edge of the forest, near the village, a little white tongue of flame danced about: just before a wood-cutter’s cottage, and above it in an apple tree sat Paula, and said, “What is the matter? Where now?” And she addressed Hia, a little green amorphous reptile.
Child, old woman, and Paula stood in a tolerably big house that was built there on the spot where the ship had split, and that was intended for them. The school was shut up; Paula, too, was in the cottage on the little wood which new were being plastered; but never was a bath more welcome when with her body she cleansed her wings of all the paint.
“How glad I am that they have all become like me!” she said. “Now it will be jolly in the lessons!” And when this feathered family, the nightingale, the bellerin, the jackdaw, came flying over them to see after their clothes and be civil to her, and to see the school again, and everything was a parrot there; something was to have happened. They all proved to be so concordant of soul by singing and keeping time that the eagle-blackbird cried, “Courage! Courage! You can all fly!” And they flew to their northern home; but Paula, be of good courage, only have washing and brushing and they scratched all right.