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Because, you must know, that that morning,
A thing which they thought very hard,

The Cook had cut off their heads,
And thrown them away in the yard.

The Hen would have prank'd up her feathers,

But plucking had sadly deform'd her;
And for want of them she would have shiver'd with

cold,
If the roasting she had had not warm'd her.

And the Cock felt exceedingly queer;

He thought it a very odd thing
That his head and his voice were he did not know

where,
And his gizzard tuck'd under his wing.

The gizzard got into its place,
But how Santiago knows best :
And so, by the help of the Saint,

Did the liver and all the rest.

The heads saw their way to the bodies,
In they came from the yard without check,
And each took its own proper station,
To the very great joy of the neck.

And in flew the feathers, like snow in a shower,

For they all became white on the way; Aid the Cock and the Hen in a trice were refledged,

And then who so happy as they !

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Cluck! cluck! cried the Hen right merrily then,

The Cock his clarion blew,
Full glad was he to hear again
His own cock-a-doo-del-doo!

THE LEGEND.

PART III.

“ A MIRACLE!” a miracle !” The people shouted, as they might well, When the news went through the town; · And every

child and woman and man Took

up
the
cry,

and away they ran
To see Pierre taken down.

They made a famous procession;

My good little women and men,
Such a sight was never seen before,

And I think will never again.

Santiago's Image, large as life, Went first with banners and drum and fife;

And next, as was most meet, The twice-born Cock and Hen were borne

Along the thronging street.

Perch'd on a cross-pole hoisted high,
They were raised in sight of the crowd ;

And, when the people set up a cry,
The Hen she cluck'd in sympathy,
And the Cock he crow'd aloud.

And because they very well knew for why

They were carried in such solemnity, And saw the Saint and his banners before 'em, They behaved with the greatest propriety,

And most correct decorum.

The Knife, which had cut off their heads that morn, Still red with their innocent blood, was borne,

The scullion boy he carried it; And the Skewers also made a part of the show,

With which they were truss'd for the spit.

The Cook in triumph bore that Spit

As high as he was able ; And the Dish was display'd wherein they were laid

When they had been served at table.

With eager faith the crowd prest round;
There was a scramble of women and men

For who should dip a finger-tip

In the blessed Gravy then,

Next went the Alcayde, beating his breast,

Crying aloud like a man distrest,
And amazed at the loss of his dinner,

“Santiago, Santiago !
Have mercy on me a sinner!”

And lifting oftentimes his hands

Towards the Cock and Hen,
Orate pro nobis !devoutly he cried,
And as devoutly the people replied,
Whenever he said it, “ Amen!”

;

The Father and Mother were last in the train

Rejoicingly they came,
And extoll’d, with tears of gratitude,

Santiago's glorious name.

So, with all honours that might be,

They gently unhang'd Pierre;
No hurt or harm had he sustain'd,

But, to make the wonder clear,
A deep black halter-mark remain’d

Just under his left ear.

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