The Blue Bird

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Look, Mytyl. There's one.

Come on. Quick.

Give me the stick.

Get the crumbs.

We got him.

We got him!

- Do you think it's a thrush?

- I hope so.

No use fluttering.

I got you now.

- Let me see him, Mytyl.

- Be careful, Tyltyl.

You'll get him excited.

Hey, there.| Who goes there?

- Oh, a forester.

- Run! Quick!

What would that forester

have did if he had caught us?

- Have done, Tyltyl. Have done.

- What would he had done?

- Put us in a dungeon

and chopped off our heads.

- Just for one little bird?

- He's got a whole forest of them.

- It's against the law.

Mytyl?

- Oh, Myty.

- Oh, hallo, Angela.

What have you got there?

Something for Christmas?

It's a bird- a very rare bird.

It's a thrush, we think.

I trapped it in the royal forest.

I don't suppose...

you wouldn't let me trade you

something for it, would you?

I should say not.

Uh, what have you got?

I'd let you have Katrina.

You always liked her.

Yes, when she was new.

She's only been sewed up

in that one little place.

I'm sorry.

Besides, I promised this bird

to another little girl for Christmas.

Oh, she wouldn't mind, Mytyl.

Please, Myty.

Won't you trade?

Angela, close the window!

- You know better than that.

- It's Mytyl.

- She's got a bird.

- Oh, yes, yes...

but aren't you sick enough, dear,

without catching your death of cold?

- Come now. Close the window.

- Oh, Mother.

I've always wanted a bird like that.

Please, ask her to give her to me.

That one?

She'd never give anybody anything.

Who's the little girl

you promised a bird for Christmas?

- Who do you suppose? Me.

- Then why didn't you say so?

The next time I go hunting,

I'll leave you at home.

Tyltyl, did you ever

see such a Christmas tree?

Look at all the children.

Everyones having fun, aren't they?

Everyone except those fiddlers.

That must be hard work.

Is that Santa Claus with the white hair?

No,you goose. That's the butler.

Good evening.

We're not doing anything. Just looking.

- But wouldn't you like some cake?

- Oh, thank you, sir.

Come along. Help yourselves, both of you.

- Don't take any, Tyltyl.

- Huh?

We may not be rich,

but we're not beggars, thank you.

Come, Tyltyl.

- Hello, Mummy.

- A fine hour to be getting home.

- Look, Mummy.

We caught the most beautiful bird.

- Where have you been?

- What kept you?

- Don't you want to see it?

I want to see your hands clean.

Put that down and wash up, both of you. Go.

Tylo, get away from there.

Keep away from this cage now.

Hello, Daddy.

I didn't know you were home.

Your mummy had to set the table, Mytyl.

Did you forget the time?

Uh, you know, Daddy,

I think the village clock is slow.

Did you hear that, Mummy?

The village clock's slow.

- She has eyes, hasn't she?

- Yes.

Didn't you see it was growing dark?

Well, I did.

But Angela Berlingot stopped us.

- I had to talk to her.

She's sick, you know.

- Hmm.

Then we looked in at

the rich children's house.

And what do you think, Daddy?

They have a Christmas tree

as high as the ceiling.

- Well.

- Never mind all that. Come along.

Get to your places. Come along.

Your father's been working in the forest

all day and he's hungry.

For what we are about to receive...

and for all thy, bounteous blessings,

O Lord, make us truly, thankful.

- Amen.

- Amen.

- Mytyl, Tylette's after your bird!

- Tylette!

Get away from here!

Get away from this bird.

How many times have I told you, Mytyl,

not to trap birds in the woods?

- But, Daddy, it's such fun.

- It's not much fun for the bird.

- But I need it.

- What for?

To sing for us.

What do you think, Mummy?

Angela Berlingot

wanted me to give it to her.

Well, why didn't you?

It'd be something to cheer her up.

- Poor mite. Sick in bed all winter.

- It's not my fault she's sick.

- It's your fault you're selfish.

- You have so much that she hasn't, Mytyl.

- What have I got?

- Health, for one thing,

to run free and play.

- Oh, that isn't anything.

- Oh, isn't it?

- I wouldn't like to stay in bed all day.

- I wouldn't mind.

That will do, Mytyl.

Stop talking and eat your supper.

- Mummy?

- What is it, Myty?

Why do we have to be

so poor all the time?

Poor? Us?

Well, we are.

We can't even have a party for Christmas.

You have a roof over your head,

haven't you, and warm clothes?

- These old things?

- And plenty to eat.

But nothing I like, nothing good.

Not like those rich children have-

cakes, candies...

dolls to play with,

pretty dresses, everything.

- I have nothing!

- That's not true, dear.

- You have lots of things.

- What?

You have a father who works for you.

- And a mother who cooks

and cleans and mends.

- What's that...

when other people have so much more?

Big houses, servants,

carriages that drive them.

And look at us.

Look at this old place.

Stop it, Mytyl!

Stop it at once.

- You ought to be ashamed of yourself.

- I'm not ashamed.

- I hate it. I hate it all!

- Be quiet!

One more word and you'll go straight to bed.

You're an ungrateful child.

One more word and you'll go straight to bed.

You're an ungrateful child.

- I don't care.

- Thoughtless, thankless.

- I'm so unhappy.

- Well, of course our unhappy,.

If you don't mend your ways,

you'll never be happy. Never!

- Oh, it's you, Wilhelm.

- Come in, Wilhelm.

Have some supper with us.

Sortie, but I have no time.

- I'm afraid I have bad news.

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