Then the oldest son-in-law began: "I will make a start with my verse. Here it is:
"In the sky the phenix proudly flies,
On the earth the lambkin tamely lies,
At the table through an aneicnt book I wade,
In the room I softly call the maid."
The second one continued: "And I say:
"In the sky the turtle-dove flies round,
On the earth the ox paws up the ground,
At the table one studies the deeds of yore,
In the room the maid she sweeps the floor."
But the third son-in-law stuttered, and found nothing to say. And when all of them insisted, he broke out in rough tones of voice:
"In the sky—flies a leaden bullet
On the earth—stalks a tiger-beast,
On the table—lies a pair of scissos.
In the room—I call the stable-boy."
The other two sons-in-law clapped their hands and began to laugh loudly.
"Why the four lines do not rhyme at all," said they, "and, besides they do not make sense. A leaden bullet is no bird, the stable-boy does his work outside, would you call him into the room? Nonsense, nonsense! Drink!"
Yet before they had finished speaking, the third daughter raised the curtain of the women's room, and stepped out. She was angry, yet she could not suppress a smile.
"How so do our lines not make sense?" said she. "Listen a moment, and I'll explain them to you: In the sky our leaden bullet will shoot your phenix and
