Once upon a time there was a woodcarver who lived in the middle of the woods alone with his little son who was named Joseph. His father loved Joseph very much. Joseph was a very happy child. His mother had died giving birth to him. One of her prized possessions was a lovely cedar trunk with a heavy lid they kept up in the attic.

The woodcarver thought that his son deserved a mother, so one day he left for town and came back with a wife. His wife has a daughter named Marjorie.

The wife was very cruel to Joseph and believed he stood in her and her daughter's way for the woodcarver's love and attention. Every day she tried to find ways to dispose of him. One day, while she was in the kitchen, her daughter walked up to her. "Mother, may I have an apple?"

"Of course, dear," her mother said. "Joseph, be a good brother and fetch your sister an apple."

"Where do you keep the apples, mother?" Joseph asked. The woman had a new idea.

"Why, where they always are. Upstairs in your mother's cedar trunk." Slowly, the evil woman followed Joseph upstairs to the attic. As he bent over, with his head inside the trunk, she crept around to the other side. "Have you find them Joseph?"

"No, not yet, ma'm." Joseph said.

"They're down there, just keep looking." She said, before seizing the heavy lid of the trunk and slamming down on the boy's neck. His head fell off and into the chest, leaving his body on the floor.

The woodcutter was away for his work and Marjorie was playing outside. The woman cleaned up the mess and carved up the boy's body. She made him into soup and a roast. Little to the woman's knowledge, Marjorie had seen her mother commit the awful crime and was scared.

That night, after dinner, Marjorie collected all the leftover bones and wrapped them in the tablecloth. She buried them underneath a red cedar tree, just like the wood in Joseph's late mother's chest.

As Marjorie cried, her tears were sprinkled in the earth. Up above her head, a little bird alighted on a tree and began to sing a song in Joseph's voice.

My mother she murdered me
My father he ate me
But my loving sister, Marjorie
Put all my bones beneath a tree

And I came back to sing on high
Oh what a pretty bird am I
And I came back to sing on high
What a pretty bird am I.

Marjorie knew in an instant this was her brother, and smiled through her tears. The bird flew away.

High above the trees he flew, until he came to the village his father had traded in earlier that day. He spied a fine necklace hanging in the jewelers window.

Perching on the windowsill, he called out, "excuse me, Miss. I can't help but notice that lovely necklace you have. Might I purchase it from you?"

The woman scoffed. "You're a bird, how on earth could you carry the funds suitable for buying this?"

The little bird began to sing,

My mother she murdered me
My father he ate me
But my loving sister, Marjorie
Put all my bones beneath a tree

And I came back to sing on high
Oh what a pretty bird am I
And I came back to sing on high
What a pretty bird am I.

"What a lovely song!" Exclaimed the woman. "Here is your necklace, little bird." She placed it around his neck and he flew this time to the blacksmith's shop.

"I'm here to enquire about your boots, good sir!" The bird called to the smithy. He turned around.

"What money have you got to buy them?" He said with a laugh.

The bird once again sang his song.

"I'd say that's ample enough." Said the blacksmith. "Here you go." The bird put his feet inside the boots and they shrunk down to his size.

He had one last stop to make- the gristmill. A gristmill is a place where you make flour at. To make the flour you must first crush it on a grist stone. They are incredibly large and heavy. The bird found himself carrying it back. It felt as light as a feather.

It was late morning when he returned. "Everyone, it is your dear Joseph returned!" Said the bird jovially. All three remaining members of the house came outside.

The bird ducked his head. The necklace fell off him and into Marjorie's hands. She put it around her neck and it looked lovely on her.

The bird kicked the boots off his feet and once again they grew to normal size. His father put them on. A perfect fit.

"What present have you got for me, my loving son?" The evil wife called up to him.

"I have something special for you, mother dear." Said the little bird. He released the heavy grist stone and it fell on the woman, crushing her to bits.

The bird flew back to the ground. Marjorie picked him up and gave him a hug. For the rest of his life, he, Marjorie, and the woodcarver lived happily ever after with great happiness. The grist stone still stands in its place today. Sometimes, if you listen closely while walking through those woods, you may once again hear the little bird singing his song.

My mother she murdered me
My father he ate me
But my loving sister, Marjorie
Put all my bones beneath a tree

And I came back to sing on high
Oh what a pretty bird am I
And I came back to sing on high
What a pretty bird am I.