Every morning, before the sun was up, a little bird sang from the old linden tree on the hill:
— Pu-pu-pup! Pu-pu-pup!
It was a hoopoe — a small bird with a crown of orange feathers.
"Wake up, sleepyhead!" Mother called. "The hoopoe is up before you again!"
John groaned. Every. Single. Morning. That bird!
"Now off you go," said Mother. "Take lunch to the workers in the far field."