IN WHICH THE PRETTY LADY CONCLUDES HER STORY
Once seated above, each told the other his favorite story and, these
being finished, the leopard asked to hear of Vargu’s secret plan.
“‘You shall have it at once,’ the other declared. And with that he
sounded a soft, signaling note, while from somewhere appeared a
solemn-eyed monkey who was almost the image of Vargu.
“‘This,’ said the latter, ‘is my son, Too-Bo-Tan.’
“‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Soft Foot admiringly. ‘A mighty fine lad,
sure enough.’
“‘Yes,’ agreed Vargu, With some pride in his tone, ‘and, even though I
say it who shouldn’t, the very nimblest monkey in all Jungleland.
Indeed, that is why I have made Too-Bo a part of the plan. So now, if
you’ll both draw as close as ever you can, I’ll tell you what we’re to
do.’
“Just what was said, I’m sure I don’t know. But there was no end of
whispering, all of which argued that some deep dark plan was afoot that,
doubtless, would be made known in good time.
“Now, on the following night,” the Pretty Lady continued, “a very odd
thing came to pass. For, from the tops of the trees in many parts of
Jungleland, sounded a weird, mournful voice crying these words:
“‘Great rock near the desert’s edge—great rock near the desert’s
edge—rock—rock—rock!’
“All the animals heard the strange cry and some sprang into the trees to
learn who had made it. But, by the time they had done so, the voice was
far, far away, repeating the words like an echo.
“On the very next night, and at the very same hour, the cry came again.
With the speed of the wind it passed through the trees, wailing:
“‘Great rock near the desert’s edge—watch the hole in its face—hole in
its face—face—face—face!’
“Following this second message there was no other topic in all
Jungleland. The different families discussed it for hours; but not even
the wisdom of Black Mane, the mightiest of all the lions, could solve
the riddle. Of course, all knew of the rock—a huge wall of stone with a
face as smooth as our own Hippo’s back. Some sent scouts to examine it.
All returned with the very same word—there was not a sign of a hole to
be found.
“Now, on the third night, the mysterious voice came again. It was here,
there—everywhere at once so it seemed. And, as it passed on its way,
these words were framed by its cry:
“‘Rock near the desert’s edge—watch the hole in its face at midnight
to-night—at midnight to-night—to-night—to-night—to-night!’
“Excitement was everywhere. Jungleland resounded with the cries of
animal chiefs, calling their followers about them. And, forming into
bands, each separate group began moving toward the great rock. Out of
the forests and from the waste places they came—in herds, in troupes and
in pairs. But each kind kept to itself and, reaching the ground that
stretched from the foot of the cliff, remained as far apart from the
others as the width of the plain would allow.
“The moon was on high and there were millions of stars. Yet, though
these lighted the side of the rock, there was not a trace of a hole to
be seen. Still, it was not yet midnight; so, with eyes fixed on the
cliff, the strange gathering awaited some sign. And, on the very minute,
it came!
“Yes, something was about to take place. First, every ear heard a deep,
muffled sound—like a drum that is played far away. Next, a wee stream of
sand began to trickle down the face of the rock; then a rattling of
pebbles and still larger stones; while, high up, near the top of the
cliff, there gradually appeared an opening as round and as big as
Elephant’s foot.
“Not an animal dared breathe! Every eye was alert—every muscle grew
tense. Then, from the very heart of the rock and out through the hole,
came a voice that was almost like thunder.
“‘Who wants to hear a story?’ it roared.
“But not one of the watchers made answer.
“‘Who wants to hear a story?’ roared the voice once again.
“Then Great Spot, the leopard, took heart.
“‘We do,’ he replied.
“‘We, also,’ called Black Mane, while soon, from all sides, came voices
crying the same.
“‘Then harken, one and all,’ roared the voice from the rock.
“Now, what the story was about need not concern us just now,” continued
the Lady. “But there was a story—and oh, such an interesting one. At
times the listeners nudged one another with delight, while the younger
animals found themselves exchanging knowing glances with those they had
never so much as noticed before. But, as is often the contrary way of
those who tell tales, the voice that told this one suddenly stopped at
the most exciting point in the story.
“‘Tell us the rest,’ rose the cry from the plain.
“‘To-morrow, at midnight,’ roared the face of the cliff. ‘Come then, if
you’d hear the end of the tale.’
“Now you may be sure that the following night found all at the foot of
the great rock again. They were gathered together a full hour before
midnight and some spent the time retelling the story. But not all told
it alike, and soon—of all unheard-of things—animals who had never spoken
to one another in all their days found themselves appealing to know if
this or that were not the way the tale had been told. Even as they
debated, there came a roar from the cliff and the unseen one went on
with the story. In time it was finished and the great voice was stilled.
“‘Tell us another,’ cried all the animals from their place on the plain.
“But plead as they would, the voice came no more. And, strangely enough,
they never heard it again. They returned to the plain the very next
night, but the hole in the great rock had been closed. They waited until
long after midnight—but not one single sound came to greet them. Never
had there been such a mystery and it was talked of for hours upon hours
and days upon days. Time after time the animals came to the great rock
and, always, in quest of the voice that was stilled. As they lingered,
night after night, in the hope that it might come again, the various
animals told their own favorite stories. And then, little by little, the
different ones began listening to those that yet others told. This made
for friendships and, one memorable night, a certain monkey made bold to
suggest that at least once every week some particular animal be selected
to tell one story to all. The thought was approved and so, as time
passed along, this trysting place came to be known by a name that is
loved by every animal in Jungleland. And what, do you suppose, is it
called?”
“The Story Time Rock,” spoke up Lion.
“Why, yes!” answered the Pretty Lady. “But how did you know, Lion?”
“I’ve heard my grandfather tell of it. But he always finished by saying
there were none who ever solved the mystery of the voice that was
stilled.”
“No, no one ever did,” said the Lady. “Yet, like so many things that are
thought to be mysteries, it was really simple enough.”
“Then, for goodness’ sake, tell us the secret!” cried Monkey, “for I’m
just bursting to know.”
“Why, it was like this: Long before Vargu—”
“The Watch! The Watch! The Petal Watch!” broke in Diggeldy Dan. “A
thousand pardons, Pretty Lady, but it’s almost closed!”
“So it is,” cried she, jumping to her feet. “We’ve not a moment to lose.
“Back to your places, every one of you,” she added, as she bounded to
her seat on the White-White Horse, “until half after twilight to-morrow,
when I’ll come to tell you the rest.”
And with a hurried “Sleep tight” and a last silvery laugh, she sped away
toward her home in the west.