In former days, every sound had its meaning. The smith's hammer cried, "Strike away!" The carpenter's plane said, "Here goes!" The mill wheel clacked, "Help, Lord God!" And if the miller was a cheat, it would speak in High German, revealing his theft.
At that time, birds also had a language all understood. Now it's mere chirping and whistling. The birds decided to choose a king from among themselves. Only the green plover opposed, crying, "Where shall I go?" before retreating to a solitary marsh.
On a fine May morning, all birds gathered: eagles, owls, larks, sparrows, cuckoos, and even a tiny, nameless bird. It was decided that whoever flew highest would be king. The eagle soared highest, but the little bird, hidden in his feathers, flew even higher and cried, "I am King!"
The birds, angered by his trick, set another contest: to go lowest into the ground. The goose flapped, the cock scratched, the duck sprained her leg, but the little bird slipped into a mouse-hole and again declared, "I am King!"
Furious, the birds imprisoned him in the hole, with the owl as guard. The owl tried to watch with one eye at a time but fell asleep. The little bird escaped.
Since then, the owl hides by day, fearing other birds. The little bird, now called 'King of the hedges' (Zaunkönig) in mockery, hides in hedges, only crying "I am King" when safe. Only the lark is happy not to obey him, soaring at sunrise and singing, "Ah, how beautiful that is!"