was just going to tell you that your son is the twelfth, and if you don't recognize him he must stay with me like the others."
"But, great heavens, how can I possibly recognize him when they are each and all alike?"
Suddenly one of the bees flew to the old woman's face and began to sting her.
"Get away, you nasty thing, do!" she cried, beating it away from her.
"Well, don't you recognize your son?"
"No, I don't!"
"Very well, then you must come again on this day three years hence. The bee that stung you was your son. However, it is too late now, you must come again."
The old woman burst into tears, and left the place, promising to come again in three years.
When the time came round the old woman once more went to meet the sorcerer.
When he whistled this time, twelve white doves flew round the old woman.
"Try and recognize your son; he is among them," said the sorcerer.
She looked, and looked, but grew no wiser. All the twelve doves sat in a row; all had exactly the same feathers, and how was she to find him? She looked again, and saw one of the doves put its head under its wing; but although she noticed this, nothing crossed her mind.
"No," she said at last, "I do not recognize my son."
"The little dove that had its head under its wing
