That was all he remembered for a time.
When he awoke he was smarting with pain on every inch of his huge
bulk, for the men had cut away his hide with its glorious white hair
and carried it with them to a distant ship.
Above him circled thousands of his friends the gulls, wondering if
their benefactor were really dead and it was proper to eat him. But
when they saw him raise his head and groan and tremble they knew he
still lived, and one of them said to his comrades:
"The wolves were right. The king is a great magician, for even men
cannot kill him. But he suffers for lack of covering. Let us repay
his kindness to us by each giving him as many feathers as we can
spare."
This idea pleased the gulls. One after another they plucked with
their beaks the softest feathers from under their wings, and, flying
down, dropped then gently upon the body of the King of the Polar
Bears.
Then they called to him in a chorus:
"Courage, friend! Our feathers are as soft and beautiful as your own
shaggy hair. They will guard you from the cold winds and warm you
while you sleep. Have courage, then, and live!"
And the King of the Polar Bears had courage to bear his pain and
lived and was strong again.
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