It was winter. The fields were covered with snow, and the winding river was frozen so thickly that you could walk on it. A poor farmer was returning home along the river bank, when he heard a noise from inside a frosty thicket. He understood right away that it was a wounded bird, and his first thought was that it would make an easy catch to take home and boil in his pot. But when he parted the twigs and undergrowth, he found a such a beautiful bird that he did not have the heart to kill it. It was a crane, whose side had been pierced by an arrow. He pulled out the shaft and rubbed some balm into the wound. The crane spread out its wings and soared into the the sky. The farmer returned to his hovel, ate half a bowl of rice, and went to bed as soon as it was dark, because there was nothing else to do. In the early hours of the morning, he heard a tap tap tapping at his door. At first he thought it was the wind, and then he wondered if it was a ghost. At last he realized that he would not sleep until he opened up and saw who or what was there. He lifted up the latch, expecting to see a ghastly apparition in the moonlight. He was prepared for a specter from the spirit world. His hand, clasping a great knife, was ready for a robber.