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TWO-LEGS
[Illustration: A HUGE NUMBER OF VISITORS]
TWO-LEGS
BY CARL EWALD
TRANSLATED FROM
THE DANISH BY
ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS
AND
ILLUSTRATED BY
JOHAN BRIEDE
AND
HELEN JACOBS
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Printed in the United States of America
For LILY TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS.
DEAR,
Of all Carl Ewald’s stories _Two-Legs_ has always been your favourite.
Now that I am reissuing it, amplified by four chapters which did not
appear in the original edition, it is only fit that I should dedicate this
translation, with my love, to you.
A. T. DE M.
CHELSEA, _2 September, 1921_.
CONTENTS
[Illustration]
_Prologue_ _Page_
THE STORY OF THE FAIRY-TALE
_Chapter_
I. THE OLD ANIMALS 15
II. MRS. TWO-LEGS HAS A SON 27
III. TWO-LEGS KILLS 33
IV. TIME PASSES 45
V. TWO-LEGS ENLARGES HIS POSSESSIONS 55
VI. TWO-LEGS WANDERS 61
VII. TWO-LEGS SOWS 69
VIII. TWO-LEGS ENJOYS LIFE 77
IX. THE OLD ANIMALS TAKE COUNSEL 85
X. THE LION 93
XI. MANY YEARS AFTER 99
XII. TWO-LEGS CONQUERS THE WIND 105
XIII. TWO-LEGS CONQUERS STEAM 117
XIV. TWO-LEGS CONQUERS ELECTRICITY 133
XV. TWO-LEGS’ FUTURE 157
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
[Illustration]
A huge number of visitors (_Colour_) _Frontispiece_
There came two through the forest _Facing page_ 16
One day the rain came ” ” 34
She pulled out his feathers ” ” 48
Two-Legs had made a good choice (_Colour_) ” ” 74
‘He shot an arrow into my left wing’ ” ” 78
He stood at the edge of the wood ” ” 82
There was no time to lose (_Colour_) ” ” 98
‘Very well, you are neither bad nor good’ ” ” 108
‘Catch me! Use me!’ (_Colour_) ” ” 122
Two-Legs stood up (_Colour_) ” ” 154
PROLOGUE
THE STORY OF THE FAIRY-TALE
[Illustration]
Once upon a time, ever so many years ago, Truth suddenly vanished from out
of the world.
When people perceived this, they were greatly alarmed and at once sent
five wise men in search of it. They set out, one in this direction and
one in that, all plentifully equipped with travelling-expenses and good
intentions. They sought for ten long years. Then they returned, each
separately. While still at a distance, they waved their hats and shouted
that they had found Truth.
The first stepped forward and declared that Truth was Science. He was
not able to finish his report, however, for, before he had done, another
thrust him aside and shouted that that was a lie, that Truth was Theology
and that he had found it. Now, while these two were at loggerheads—for the
Science man replied vigorously to the attack—there came a third and said,
in beautiful words, that Truth was Love, without a doubt. Then came the
fourth and stated, quite curtly, that he had Truth in his pocket, that it
was Gold and that all the rest was childish nonsense. At last came the
fifth. He could not stand on his legs, gave a hiccoughing laugh and said
that Truth was Wine. He had found Truth in Wine, after looking for it
everywhere.
Then the five wise men began to fight and they pummelled one another so
lustily that it was horrible to see. Science had its head broken and Love
was so ill-treated that it had to change its clothes before it could show
itself again in respectable society. Gold was so thoroughly stripped of
every covering that people felt awkward about knowing it; and the bottle
broke and Wine flowed away into the mud. But Theology came off worst of
all; everybody had a blow at it; and it received such a basting that it
became the laughing-stock of all beholders.
And people took sides, some with this one and some with that, and they
shouted so loud that they could neither see nor hear for the din. But far
away, at the extreme end of the earth, sat a few and mourned because they
thought that Truth had gone to pieces and would never be made whole again.
Now, as they sat there, a little girl came running up and said that she
had found Truth. If they would just come with her ... it was not very
far.... Truth was sitting in the midst of the world, in a green meadow.
Then there came a pause in the fighting, for the little girl looked so
very sweet. First one went with her; then another; and ever more and
more.... At last they were all in the meadow and there discovered a figure
the like of which they had never seen before. There was no distinguishing
whether it was a man or a woman, an adult or a child. Its forehead was
pure as that of one who knows no sin; its eyes deep and serious as those
of one who has read into the heart of the whole world. Its mouth opened
with the brightest smile and then quivered with a sadness greater than any
could describe. Its hand was soft as a mother’s and strong as the hand of
a king; its foot trod the earth firmly, yet crushed not a flower. And then
the figure had large, soft wings, like the birds that fly at night.
Now, as they stood there and stared, the figure drew itself erect and
cried, in a voice that sounded like ringing bells:
“I am Truth!”
“It’s a Fairy-tale!” said Science.
“It’s a Fairy-tale!” cried Theology and Love and Gold and Wine.
Then the five wise men and their followers departed and they went on
fighting till the earth was shaken to its centre.
But a few old and tired men and a few young men with ardent and eager
souls and many women and thousands of children with great wide eyes: these
remained in the meadow where the Fairy-tale was....
[Illustration]
THE OLD ANIMALS
[Illustration]
1
It was once upon a time, many, many, many years ago.
And it was in the warm lands where the sun shines stronger than here and
the rain falls closer and all animals and plants thrive better, because
the winter does not stunt their growth.
The forest was full of life and noise.
The flies buzzed, the sparrow ate the flies and the hawk ate the sparrow.
The bees crept into the flowers in search of honey, the lion roared and
the birds sang, the brook rippled and the grass grew. The trees stood and
rustled, while their roots sucked sap from the earth. The flowers were
radiant and fragrant.
All at once, it became strangely still.
It was as though everything held its breath and listened and stared. The
rustling of the trees ceased. The violet woke from her dreams and looked
up in wonder. The lion raised his head and stood with one paw uplifted.
The stag stopped grazing, the eagle rested high in the air on his wings,
the little mouse ran out of his hole and pricked up his ears.
There came two through the forest who were different from the others and
whom no one had ever seen before.
They walked erect. Their foreheads were high, their eyes firm and steady.
They went hand in hand and looked around them as though they did not know
where they were.
“Who, in the name of wonder, are these?” asked the lion.
“They’re animals,” said the stag. “They can walk. But how oddly they do
it! Why don’t they leap on all fours, seeing that they have four legs?
Then they would get along much faster.”
“Oh,” said the snake, “I have no legs at all and it seems to me I get
along pretty fast!’
“I don’t believe they are animals,” said the nightingale. “They have no
feathers and no hair, except that bit on their heads.”
“Scales would do quite as well,” said the pike, popping his head out of
the river.
“Some of us have to manage with our bare skin,” said the earth-worm,
quietly.
“They have no tails,” said the mouse. “Never in their lives have they been
animals!”
“I have no tail,” said the toad. “And nobody can deny that I am an animal.”
“Look!” said the lion. “Just look! One of them is taking up a stone in his
fore-paws: I couldn’t do that.”
“But I could,” said the orang-outang. “There’s nothing in that. For the
rest, I can satisfy your curiosity. Those two, in point of fact, are
animals. They are husband and wife, their name is Two-Legs and they are
distant relations of my own.”
“Oh, really?” said the lion. “Then how is it they have no fur?”
“I daresay they’ve lost it,” said the orang-outang.
“Why don’t you go and talk to them?” asked the lion.
[Illustration: THERE CAME TWO THROUGH THE FOREST]
“I don’t know them,” replied the orang-outang. “And I’m not at all
anxious to have anything to do with them. I have only heard of them. You
must know, they are a sort of very inferior, second-rate ape. I shall be
pleased to give them an apple or an orange now and again, but I won’t
undertake the smallest responsibility for them.”
“They look very nice,” said the lion. “I shouldn’t mind trying what they
taste like.”
“Pray do, for all that I care,” said the orang-outang. “They will never be
a credit to the family and, sooner or later, they will come to a bad end.”
The lion went towards them, as they came, but, when he stood before them,
he suddenly lost courage. He could not understand this himself, for there
was not another thing in the forest that he feared. But the two new
animals had such strange eyes and walked the earth so fearlessly that he
thought they must possess some mysterious power which he could not see.
There was nothing particular about their teeth; and their claws were not
worth speaking of. But something about them there must be.
So he hung his head and moved out of their way.
“Why didn’t you eat them?” asked the lioness.
“I wasn’t feeling hungry,” he answered.
He lay down to rest in the high grass and did as though he were no longer
thinking of them. The other animals did the same, for he was their chief.
But none of them meant it. They were all taken up with the new animals.
2
Meanwhile, Two-Legs and his wife walked on; and, the farther they walked,
the more they wondered at the splendour of the world. They had no
suspicion of the attention which they attracted and they did not see that
all the animals were stealthily following in their tracks. Wherever they
came, the trees put their tops together and whispered, the birds flew in
the air above their heads and astonished eyes started at them from every
bush.
“We will live here,” said Two-Legs and pointed to a wonderful little
meadow, where the river flowed between flowers and grass.
“No, here!” cried his wife and ran into the adjoining wood, where the
trees dispensed a deep shade and the moss was thick and soft.
[Illustration]
“How strange their voices sound!” said the nightingale. “They have more
notes than I.”
“If they were not so big, I should advise them to build a nest beside me
in the rushes,” said the reed-warbler.
The two new animals walked on and constantly found a place which was
prettier than the last which they had seen; and they could not make up
their minds to stay anywhere. Then they met the dog, who was limping
badly, having cut his foot on a sharp stone. He tried to run away from
them, but could not. Mrs. Two-Legs took hold of him and looked at the
injured foot:
“I’ll help you, you poor fellow,” she said. “Wait a minute. I hurt my own
foot the other day and healed it with leaves.”
The dog saw that she meant well by him. He waited patiently while she ran
into the copsewood for leaves. Two-Legs patted him on the back and talked
kindly to him. Then she came back with the leaves, put them on his foot
and bound a tendril round them:
“Run away now,” she said. “To-morrow you’ll be quite well again.”
They went on, but the dog stood looking after them and wagging his tail.
The other animals came out of the bushes and copses:
“You’ve been talking to the strangers. What did they say? What are they
like?” they all asked in chorus.
“They are better than the other animals in the forest,” replied the dog.
“They have healed my foot and stroked my skin. I shall never forget it.”
“They have healed the dog’s foot.... They have stroked the dog’s skin....”
It ran from mouth to mouth through the forest. The trees whispered it to
one another, the flowers sighed and nodded, the lizards rushed round with
the story and the nightingale set it to music. The new animals went on and
thought no more of the dog.
3
At last, however, they were so tired that they sat down. They stooped over
the spring and drank and laughed at their own image in the water. They
plucked juicy fruits from the trees and ate them. When the sun went down,
they lay down to rest in the grass and went to sleep with their arms about
each other’s necks. A little way off, the dog, who had followed in their
footsteps, lay with his head on his paws, watching them. The round full
moon shone straight down upon them. She also shone in the big face of the
ox, who stood looking at them.
“Boo!” said the ox.
“Bo!” said the moon. “What are you staring at?”
“I’m looking at those two who are lying there asleep,” said the ox. “Do
you know them?”
“I believe something of the kind used to crawl over my face years and
years ago,” replied the moon. “But I’m not sure. My memory has become very
bad in the last hundred thousand years. It’s almost more than I can do to
concentrate my thoughts upon my celestial course.”
“Yes, thinking is not my strong point either,” said the ox. “But I am
frightened.”
“Of those two there?” asked the moon.
“I don’t know why,” said the ox, “but I can’t bear them.”
“Then trample them to death!” cried the moon.
“I dare not,” said the ox. “Not by myself. But perhaps I can persuade some
one to help me.”
“That’s your look-out,” said the moon. “It’s all one to me.”
And she sailed on. But the ox stood and chewed the cud and thought and got
no further.
“Are you asleep?” asked the sheep, sticking out her long face beside the
ox.
And suddenly the whole meadow came to life.
All the animals were there who had followed the two on their walk. There
were both those who sleep by day and hunt at night and those who do their
work while the sun shines. None of them was now thinking of working or
resting. None thought of hurting the others. The lion and the stag, the
wolf and the sheep, the cat and the mouse and the horse and the ox and
many others stood side by side on the grass. The eagle sat in a tree-top,
surrounded by all the little birds of the forest. The orang-outang sat
on one of the lower branches eating an orange. The hen stood on a mound
beside the fox; the duck and the goose lay in the brook and stuck out
their necks.
“Now that we are all here together, let us discuss the matter,” said the
lion.
“Have you had enough to eat?” asked the ox.
“Quite,” answered the lion. “To-night we shall keep the peace and be
friends.”
“Then I move that we kill those two strange animals forthwith and without
more ado,” said the ox.
[Illustration]
“What in the wide world is the matter with you?” asked the lion.
“Generally you’re such a peaceful fellow, grazing, attending to your
business and not hurting a living thing. What makes you so bloodthirsty
all of a sudden?”
“I can’t account for it,” said the ox. “But I have a decided conviction
that we ought to kill them as soon as possible. They bring misfortune.
They are evil. If you don’t follow my advice, rely upon it, one day you
will all regret it.”
“I agree with the ox,” cried the horse. “Bite them to death! Kick them to
pieces! And the sooner the better!”
“Kill them, kill them!” cried the sheep, the goat and the stag, with one
voice.
“Yes, do, do!” screamed the duck, the goose and the hen.
“I have never heard anything like this in my life,” said the lion, looking
round in surprise at the crowd. “It’s just the most peaceable and timid
animals in the forest that want to take the strangers’ lives. What have
they done to you? What are you afraid of?”
“I can’t tell you any more than the ox can,” said the horse. “But I feel
that they are dangerous. I have such pains in my loins and legs.”
“When I think of those two, I feel as if I were being skinned,” said the
ox. “I feel teeth biting into my flesh.”
“There’s a tugging at my udders,” said the cow.
“I’m shivering all over, as though all my wool had been shorn off,” said
the sheep.
“I have a feeling as if I were being roasted before the fire and eaten,”
said the goose.
“So have I! So have I!” screamed the duck and the hen.
“This is most remarkable,” said the lion. “I have never heard anything
like it and I can’t understand your fears. What can those strangers do to
you? They go about naked among us, eat an apple or an orange and don’t do
the least harm. They go on two poor legs, whereas you have four, so that
you can run away from them anyhow. You have horns and claws and teeth:
what are you afraid of?”
“You’ll be sorry one day,” said the ox. “The new animals will be the ruin
of us all. The danger threatens you as well as the rest of us.”
[Illustration]
“I see no danger and I know no fear,” said the lion, proudly. “But is
there really not one of you to take the strangers’ part?”
“If they did not belong to my family, I would do so gladly,” said the
orang-outang. “But it looks bad to recommend one’s own relations. Let them
go their way and starve. They are quite harmless.”
“Then I at least will say a good word for them,” said the dog. “My foot is
almost well again and I believe that they are cleverer than all the rest
of you put together. I shall never forget what they did for me.”
“That’s right, cousin,” said the lion. “You’re a fine fellow and one can
see that you come of a good stock. I don’t believe that these Two-Legs are
dangerous and I have no intention of doing them any harm. To be sure, if
I meet them one day when I’m hungry, I shall eat them. That’s a different
thing. Hunger knows no law. But to-night I have had enough to eat and I am
going home to bed. Good night, all of you!”
Then none of the animals said another word. They went away as noiselessly
as they had come. The night came to an end and the day broke in the east.
4
Then suddenly the ox and the horse and the sheep and the goat came
galloping over the meadow. Behind them, as fast as they could, came the
goose and the duck and the hen. The ox was at their head and rushed with
lowered horns to the place where the strangers lay sleeping.
But then the dog sprang up and barked like mad. The two new animals woke
and leapt to their feet. And, when they stood there, tall and slender,
with their white limbs and their steady eyes, and the sun shone down upon
them, the old animals were seized with terror and ran back the way they
came.
“Thank you, friend,” said Two-Legs and patted the dog.
Mrs. Two-Legs looked to his bad foot and spoke to him in her pretty voice.
He licked their hands with delight.
Then the new animals bathed in the river. And then Two-Legs climbed up an
apple-tree to get some breakfast for himself and his wife.
In the tree sat the orang-outang eating an apple.
“Get out of that!” said Two-Legs, in a threatening tone. “This is my tree
and don’t you forget it. Don’t you dare touch a single apple!”
“Goodness gracious me!” said the orang-outang. “What a tone to take up!
And I who defended you last night when all the other animals wanted to
kill you!”
“Get out, you disgusting ape!” said Two-Legs.
He broke a branch off the tree and caught the orang-outang a couple of
such lusty cracks that he ran off crying into the forest.
[Illustration]
MRS TWO-LEGS HAS A SON
[Illustration]
1
The days passed.
Things were busy in the forest, both above and below. All the wives had
eggs or young and all the husbands had their work cut out to provide food
for their families. Every one attended to his business and took no heed of
his neighbour, except when he wanted to eat him.
The new animals had taken up their abode on an island in the river.
This was because the lion had met them one day on the borders of the
copsewood. He had got out of their way, as on the first occasion; but he
had given them such a look that Mrs. Two-Legs trembled with fright:
“He’ll eat us one day,” she said. “I dare not sleep in the meadow again.”
Then Two-Legs discovered the little island and built a hut on it of
branches and grass. Every day they waded through the river and went
to gather fruit in the forest. At night they slept in their hut. The
other animals had gradually all got used to them and spoke of them but
seldom. Only the dog never forgot to run down to the river every morning
to look across at the island and bark “Good morning!” to them. And the
orang-outang slandered them wherever he went.
“Who minds what he says?” asked the stag. “They’re relations; and we all
know what that means.”
[Illustration]
2
One night, a child was born to the new animals.
“The Two-Legs have had a youngster,” said the sparrow, who went everywhere
and always had some news to tell.
“Really! I must run and have a look at the baby,” said Mrs. Nightingale.
“My eggs will keep warm for four or five minutes.”
“Mrs. Fox has gone there herself, so I can leave my goslings alone for a
moment,” said the goose.
Down by the river was a huge number of visitors and enquirers.
All the wives had hurried from hearth and home to have a look at the
Two-Legs. Mrs. Two-Legs was sitting on the grass in front of the hut with
her child at her breast. Two-Legs sat beside her, eating an orange.
“He’s just the same as other husbands,” observed Mrs. Stag.
“There are some who are worse,” said Mrs. Mole. “My husband eats the
children, if I don’t look after them.”
“Husbands are mere rubbish,” said Mrs. Spider. “I ate mine as soon as I
had laid my eggs.”
“Do spare us those gruesome stories,” said Mrs. Nightingale. “But he might
sing to her a little. That’s what my husband does.”
“Oh, but look at the baby! Isn’t he sweet?” exclaimed Mrs. Reed-Warbler.
“Poor little thing!” said Mrs. Stag. “He can’t even stand on his legs and
the sparrow was saying that he was born at eleven o’clock last night. When
my fawn was an hour old, he was jumping merrily over the meadow.”
“There’s no sense in carrying a poor little mite like that in one’s arms,”
said Mrs. Kangaroo. “If he were mine, he should stay snugly in my pouch
until he knew how to behave himself. But probably the poor woman hasn’t
even got a pouch.”
“At least he can see!” said Mrs. Fox. “My children are blind for quite
nine days.”
“Don’t forget that they are poor people,” said the orang-outang.
“Stuff!” said Mrs. Nightingale. “It’s a dear little baby, as any mother
can see. Hi! Mrs. Two-Legs! Be sure you feed him on maggots. Then he’ll
grow up nice and fat.”
“And, for goodness’ sake, sit on him at night!” cried Mrs. Reed-Warbler.
“Else he’ll catch cold.”
“Don’t mind what any of them say!” cried Mrs. Stag. “You stick to the
milk! That’s good enough. And put him down on the grass and let him run
about. You had much better make him used to it from the start.”
Mrs. Two-Legs looked at her baby and did not listen to what they said. He
had now finished drinking and began to crow and kick about his little legs
and arms. Two-Legs took him and lifted him high in the air and laughed at
him.
“Isn’t he sweet?” said Mrs. Reed-Warbler.
“He’s all that,” said Mrs. Stag. “But his parents are very
self-sufficient. They won’t look at any one else.” And she called across
to the island, “It’s all right, Mrs. Two-Legs. You go on with the milk.
And, if you run short, come to me. My only fawn died the other day, so I
have plenty!”
Then they all hurried home again, lest their husbands should come and find
out that they had been gossiping.
“I’m going to fetch a couple of oranges, or something of the sort,” said
Two-Legs. “It may be some time before I’m back, for we’ve eaten everything
on the trees round about here.”
“Be as quick as you can,” replied his wife. “You know I don’t care to be
alone at this time.”
He waded through the river and went into the forest. After a long while,
he came back, having found only a couple of poor little fruits. He was
annoyed at this and so was his wife, for she was hungry. Then they sat and
discussed whether they could not find something else that was fit to eat
in the neighbourhood. For, once the evening had come, they did not dare
leave the island.
“Last evening,” said Two-Legs, “I saw the otter catch a big fish in the
river here and eat him. Perhaps we could do the same.”
“Do try,” said Mrs. Two-Legs. “One thing is certain, I must have some
food.”
He went out into the river and with his hands caught a great pike, who
was swimming just past him, not dreaming of danger. He had so often seen
Two-Legs wading through the river and Two-Legs had never looked at him.
But now Two-Legs flung him on the island and there lay the pike gaping and
gasping for breath and yelling with might and main:
“Hi!... Ho!... Murder!... Help!”
But he was soon dead. Two-Legs and his wife ate him and found him
excellent.
“Get me another fish like that to-morrow, will you?” said Mrs. Two-Legs.
“Frankly speaking, I was getting rather tired of those apples.”
Next day, Two-Legs went into the river again. He was not long before he
saw another fine fish, but, just as he wanted to catch it, the otter
snapped it away in front of his nose.
“Get out of my river, you thief!” shouted Two-Legs and struck at him.
“Whom are you calling thief?” said the otter, snarling and showing his
white teeth. “I rather thought the river was mine. I was living here long
before you came.”
Two-Legs leapt on shore and picked up some big stones and flung them at
the otter. One of them caught him on the snout and made it bleed. Then he
hid in his hole and Two-Legs caught another fish and took it home to his
wife. But, when the otter came out again at night, the orang-outang was
sitting there and nodding to him:
“I have seen all,” said the orang-outang. “I was sitting in the tree over
there and saw him throw the stone at you. The water turned quite red with
your blood. He ill-treated me once too. He said the apples were his and
drove me out of the tree with a stick. And to think that we are relations!”
“If I could only get at him!” said the otter. “But I am too small.”
“All in good time,” answered the orang-outang. “We shall be even with him
yet.”
[Illustration]
TWO-LEGS KILLS
[Illustration]
1
The sun was scorching and the ground was shockingly dry.
The trees and bushes hung their leaves and the grass was parched and
yellow, so that the ox could hardly find a green tuft to eat. The water in
the river was so low that the fish swam along the bottom; and the brook
had stopped running altogether. The animals lay in the shade and gasped
for breath. In many places, both flowers and animals had died. Two-Legs
and his wife and child were not much better off.
The only one who was really happy was the snake. He stretched himself in
the sun and thought it delightful:
“Shine away, you dear sun,” he said. “The hotter the better. I am only
just beginning to feel alive.”
2
But one day the rain came.
It was not the sort of rain against which you can just put up an umbrella
or take shelter in a doorway and wait until it stops. It poured down
from the clouds till you could not see your hand before your face and it
rained day after day as if it would never end. It rattled and pattered and
clattered on the dry leaves so that you could not hear a sound. The river
flowed again and the brook woke from its trance and sang as it had never
sung before. The whole earth was like a thirsty mouth that drank and drank
and could never quench its thirst.
And a great gladness reigned on every hand.
The trees stretched themselves and spread out and sent forth new shoots;
and the grass sprang fresh and green from the ground. The flowers
blossomed anew; the frogs croaked till they were heard all over the
forest; and the fish flapped their tails merrily. Two-Legs and his family
sat in front of their leafy hut and rejoiced with the rest.
But it went on raining.
The river overflowed its banks and Two-Legs feared lest his island should
go under in the waves. The water soaked through the roof of the hut until
there was not a dry spot inside.
“Baby’s cold,” said Mrs. Two-Legs.
They decided to leave the island and crossed the river with great
difficulty, for it was now very deep. They waded through the damp meadow
and carried the child by turns. Then they found a tree which was so
contrived that they could live in it. They twisted the branches together
and built a roof and stopped up the holes as best they could with grass
and moss; and this was their new house.
“The water can’t reach us here,” said Two-Legs.
“But it’s raining through the roof,” said his wife. “Baby’s cold and so am
I.”
[Illustration: ONE DAY THE RAIN CAME]
“It’s just as I always said,” observed the orang-outang. “They have no
hide or fur or anything and they’ll come to a horrible end.”
“You ought to have fed your little one on maggots, Mrs. Two-Legs,” said
Mrs. Nightingale. “Then he would have thrived better. My young ones are
already almost as big as myself.”
“You ought to have put him in the meadow and let him jump about, as I
advised you,” said Mrs. Stag. “Then he would have been able to shift for
himself by now.”
“You should sit on him,” said Mrs. Reed-Warbler. “That’s how I keep my
young ones warm.”
Mrs. Two-Legs said nothing, but looked at her boy, who was shivering with
cold.
[Illustration]
“It’s really a terribly spoilt child,” said Mrs. Hedgehog. “Of course,
what must be must be; and, once you’ve brought children into the world,
you have to give them a decent bringing-up. But a great big thumping lout
like that, of six months old, still at his mother’s breast: fie, for
shame! What he wants is a good beating and then turn him loose into the
world!”
“There’s nothing to be done with people like that,” said Mrs. Stag. “They
won’t use their common sense; and, as they have made their bed, so they
must lie on it.”
Then they went away.
3
Mrs. Two-Legs sat in the tree and the rain poured and the baby cried with
cold.
“Look at that silly sheep in the meadow,” said Mrs. Two-Legs. “She’s warm
and comfortable in her thick fleece, while my poor dear little boy lies
shivering.”
Two-Legs heard what she said, but made no reply. He sat silent for a while
and thought over things. Then he climbed down from the tree and sat on the
ground a little and thought again. The rain splashed and clattered. Up in
the tree, the little baby cried with cold. Down in the meadow, the sheep
moved about and grazed.
Then Two-Legs rose and went up to the sheep. On his way, he took a sharp
stone and hid it in his hand. He went very slowly and looked to one side,
so as not to frighten the sheep. Then suddenly, with a bound, he caught
hold of her.
“Baa! Baa! Murder! Help! I’m dying!” cried the sheep.
Two-Legs struck her on the forehead with the stone and she fell to the
ground. Then he strangled her with his hands, caught her by the fleece and
dragged her to the tree where he had made his home.
He cut a hole in her hide with the sharp stone and began to pull it off
with his finger-nails. His wife came down and helped him. They used their
teeth also, to finish the work more quickly, and, presently, they stopped
and looked at each other with beaming eyes:
“How delicious!” he said.
“Wonderful!” said she. “Let us hurry now and give the boy the fleece. Then
we will go on eating.”
Two-Legs drank the blood of the sheep and bit into the meat:
“I feel stronger than I ever did before,” he said. “Let the lion come now,
then he’ll have me to deal with.”
They wrapped the fleece round the child, who at once went comfortably to
sleep. Then they dragged the rest of the sheep up into the tree and sat
down to eat. Every bite they took made them feel braver and stronger. They
gave no more thought to cold or rain, but sat and talked of the future as
they had never talked before:
“I should like to have a sheepskin like that for myself,” said she.
“So you shall,” said he, gnawing a bone, “unless we find another animal
that has a still softer and warmer skin. I want a fur too.... I say, we
might cover the roof with sheepskins: that would keep out the rain. I will
go out to-morrow and find some more sheep and kill them and bring them
home.”
“Then we’ll eat them,” said Mrs. Two-Legs.
“Rather!” said he. “We’ll eat meat every day. What a good thing that I
thought of it, for the fish in the river were already growing afraid of
me!”
“Mind you don’t meet with an accident,” said she.
“That’s all right,” he said. “I’ll go down to the river the first thing in
the morning and pick out some sharp stones, in case I should lose the one
I have. And, look here, I’ll tell you what: I’ll fasten one of those sharp
stones to the end of a stick, with a shoot or tendril of some kind; a long
stick, do you see? Then I need not go up to the sheep to hit them. I can
throw the stone. For, of course, they’ll be afraid of me when they hear
that I have killed one of them....”
4
While they were talking like this, all the animals of the forest had
gathered in the meadow, just as on the first night when the new animals
arrived:
“Two-Legs has killed the sheep!” cried the sparrow and hurried on with
her news, drenched and rumpled though she was with the rain.
“Two-Legs has murdered the sheep and the ox and the goat!” screamed the
crow and flapped her wet wings.
“Softly!” said the ox. “I’m alive still, thank goodness, though I’m quite
prepared for the worst.”
“Two-Legs has killed all the animals in the forest ... he’s sitting in the
meadow eating the lion,” whispered the reeds to one another.
Then all the animals rushed down to the meadow to hear the exact state of
affairs. The lion stood in their midst, with his head proudly raised:
“What’s all this noise about?” he asked.
“May I speak?” said the orang-outang, holding up one finger. “I was
sitting in the palm-tree over there and saw the whole thing. It was
terrible.”
“What a mean fellow you are!” said the lion. “You’re giving evidence
against your own relations.”
“Very distant,” replied the orang-outang. “Exceedingly remote. I will
remind you that I expressly refused to take any responsibility for these
Two-Legs, who only bring disgrace upon the family. Well, I was sitting
in the tree and saw him come running up, fling himself on the sheep and
strangle her. Then he dragged the poor beast to the tree in which he is
living. I crept up behind him and saw him skin her. The woman helped him
and then they climbed up the tree and feasted.”
“Is that all?” asked the lion. “I’ve eaten plenty of sheep in my time,
though I prefer deer on the whole. Why shouldn’t Two-Legs help himself to
a bit of meat if he likes?”
“If I may speak, I should like to remind you of what I said when we last
met,” said the ox. “It’s easy for you to talk like that, for Two-Legs
can’t do you any harm. It’s we others that he eats. Still, you had better
look out. He may become a dangerous competitor. Suppose he gets a large
family of children and they all take to eating mutton?”
“Then there’s always beef left!” said the lion, laughing and showing his
terrible teeth.
“Just so,” said the ox and cautiously took a step backwards. “The oxen
will get their turn, now that he has tasted blood. He looks awfully
greedy. And I feel as if he had eaten me before.”
“Humph!” said the lion. “There may be something in that. I don’t like
beating about the bush as a rule. Let us go and have a word with the
fellow.”
[Illustration]
5
He moved on; and the orang-outang skipped along eagerly in front of him:
“This way, this way,” he said.
The lion stopped under the tree where Two-Legs had made his home. All
the other animals of the forest had followed him and stood listening and
staring.
“Two-Legs!” roared the lion, with his mighty voice.
It sounded like thunder and they all started with fear. The lion lashed
his tail and looked up at the tree. Not a sound came from it. He called
out again, but there was no answer.
“The impudent beggars!” said the orang-outang.
“Perhaps they are dead,” said the nightingale. “Perhaps they have
overeaten themselves with the sheep.”
“You don’t die of eating too much, but of eating too little,” said the
pig, who kept rooting in the ground with his snout, in search of something
for himself to eat.
Then the lion roared for the third time; and the noise was so loud that a
little siskin tumbled off her twig right into the jaws of the snake, who
swallowed her before any one could utter a sound, so that nobody ever got
wind of the story.
And now Two-Legs appeared at the top of the tree.
He had been fast asleep after the hearty meal which he had enjoyed; and he
was furious at being roused. His hair hung about his face in disorder and
his eyes were bloodshot and his mouth covered with foam:
“Who dares disturb my sleep?” he shouted.
“I do: the lion.”
“The lion, the king of beasts,” they all cried, respectfully, with one
voice.
“I am king in my own house,” said Two-Legs. “Be off, I want to sleep.”
“He is defying the lion.... He is mad.... I won’t give a penny for his
life!” cried the animals.
But Two-Legs took the thigh-bone of the sheep, aimed it and flung it with
all his might at the lion. It hit the king of beasts in the middle of the
forehead. He uttered a frightful roar. All the animals rushed terrified
across the meadow. The lion ran in their midst, roaring constantly, till
it echoed all over the forest.
But Two-Legs lay down quietly to sleep and slept until broad daylight.
When he awoke and had climbed down the tree, the dog lay gnawing the bone
which Two-Legs had flung at the lion. He wagged his tail; Two-Legs patted
him and gave him another bone:
“Will you be my servant and my friend?” asked Two-Legs.
“Gladly,” said the dog. “You have been kinder to me than the others and
you are stronger and cleverer than they.”
“Very well,” said Two-Legs. “Then you shall keep watch over me and mine
and help me when I go hunting and bear me company.”
[Illustration]
TIME PASSES
[Illustration]
1
The rainy season went by, the sun recovered his strength and rain and
sunshine came and went by turns. Time passed, as it must and will pass.
The Two-Legs family were now living in a new house which was better than
either the leafy hut on the island or the dwelling up in the apple-tree.
It was a cave in the rocks, which Two-Legs had discovered on one of his
rambles. It was cool in the warm weather and in the cold it was sheltered
against the rain and it could be closed with a big stone at night or when
danger threatened. Two-Legs had hung the walls with skins and carpeted the
floor with moss and now felt comfortably at home with his family and the
dog.
He had plenty to do, for the family had increased. He now had three
children, who were doing excellently and eating like wolves. He had had to
be careful since the night when he flung the bone at the lion’s head, for
not only had he made an enemy of the king of beasts, but most of the other
animals of the forest looked upon him with suspicion.
And they were well-advised, for Two-Legs had become a mighty hunter, in no
way inferior to the lion himself.
In the back room of his cave, he kept two big spears and one little one,
which his eldest son was already able to use very cleverly. They lay in
wait craftily for their prey, just as the lion and the other hunters of
the forest did. The dog drove the game towards them and they threw their
spears and killed it.
“He’s a better hunter than I,” said the lion, one evening, to his wife.
“With his spear to-day he got a young deer that I had selected for myself.”
“Why didn’t you take her yourself?” asked the lioness.
“I was crawling up to her in the grass,” he replied. “But, before I could
make my spring, Two-Legs had killed her. He sent his spear through her
neck and she fell dead on the spot.”
“Then why didn’t you take her from him after he had killed her?” asked the
lioness again.
“He had another spear in his hand,” said the lion. “And his youngster had
one also. The spear is a thing I don’t understand. They who are struck by
it fall down and die.”
“You’re afraid of Two-Legs,” sneered the lioness. “He’s the king of the
forest, not you. If your son proves as big a coward as yourself, we’re
done for.”
The lion said nothing, but lay staring before him with his yellow eyes.
2
But, a little before daybreak, he stole up to Two-Legs’ cave, hid in the
bushes and waited patiently until the stone was rolled away. This happened
immediately after sunrise. The lion made ready to leap. He saw blood
before his eyes and sprang, almost without thinking, upon the first form
that appeared, struck it down with his powerful claws and carried it back
with a bound into the bushes.
A terrible scream brought Two-Legs to the entrance of the cave. He stood
holding a spear in either hand. The lion saw that he had not killed his
enemy, but only one of his children. He let go the corpse and prepared to
make a fresh spring. Two-Legs now saw him among the leaves. He flung one
spear and missed him. Then he threw the other, but the lion was gone, with
great bounds.
With tears and lamentations, Two-Legs and his wife bore the dead child
into the cave. The lion, hurried by fear, fled through the forest.
Wherever he came, the terrified animals fell aside.
“The lion is flying from Two-Legs,” announced the sparrow.
And the rumour spread through the whole forest and grew.
“Two-Legs has wounded the lion with his spear,” screamed the crow.
“Two-Legs has killed the lion and is hunting the lioness,” squeaked the
mouse.
And the lion fled on.
He rushed past his lair, as though he dare not look his wife in the face.
He did not come home until late at night.
“Are you still alive?” asked the lioness, scoffing. “The whole forest
believes you dead. And what about Two-Legs?”
“I have killed one of his young,” answered the lion, angrily.
“What’s the good of that?” asked she.
Then he caught her a box on the ear the like of which she had never had
before, lay down and stared before him with his yellow eyes.
But the animals in the forest wondered and whispered to one another:
“The lion is afraid.... The lion runs away from Two-Legs.”
“Didn’t I tell you so?” said the ox. “We ought to have killed him then and
there.”
“Ah, yes!” said the horse. “If the lion had only taken our advice!”
“Ah, yes!” sighed the duck and the goose and the hen.
But the orang-outang went to one side in the forest and reflected:
“My cousin is not such a fool as I thought,” said he to himself. “I really
don’t know why I shouldn’t go and do the same. I am like him, but have
many advantages which he has not; and I ought to do at least as well as
he.”
He took a stick and tried if he could walk like Two-Legs. He succeeded
quite nicely and then he made for the other animals. He lifted his stick,
yelled and made terrible eyes. But the animals crowded round and laughed
at him. The fox snatched the stick from his hand, the stag butted him in
the back, the sparrow behaved uncivilly on his head and they all made such
fun of him that he ran away and hid in the copsewood where it was thickest.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: SHE PULLED OUT HIS FEATHERS]
3
But the next morning the animals had fresh food for thought.
They saw Two-Legs carry the corpse into the forest and build a great heap
of stones over it. His wife picked the reddest flowers and laid them on
the stones.
“Well, I never!” said the nightingale. “When another dies, he’s left, if
you please, to lie where he falls. But as much fuss is made about this
child as if his memory were to last for all eternity! I don’t even know
what has become of my live children of last year, not to speak of the poor
little chap who fell out of the nest and broke his neck.”
“You just wait. There’s worse to come,” said the ox.
And it came. For, a week later, something happened that enraged the
animals of the forest more than all that had gone before. Mrs. Two-Legs
saw a splendid bird of paradise sitting in a tree:
“What wonderful feathers!” she said. “If I could only have a tuft like
that to wear in my hair!”
Two-Legs, who wanted to do everything to console her for the death of the
child, at once went out with his spear and soon came back with the dead
bird of paradise. She pulled out his feathers and tucked them in her hair
and thought she looked charming; and Two-Legs thought so too.
“Now this is really too bad,” said the nightingale. “To kill a bird in
order to adorn his wife with the feathers! Did you ever in your born days!
It’s well for me that I’m so grey and ugly!”
The widow of the bird of paradise, followed by a great host, went off to
the lion:
“The new animals have killed my husband,” she said. “Here am I left a
widow, with four cold eggs. Now that my breadwinner is killed, I can’t
stay at home and sit on the eggs, unless I want to die of hunger. So I
left them, to look for some food. When I returned, they were cold and
dead. I have come to demand vengeance upon the murderer.”
“What can I say?” said the lion. “There are so many widows in the forest.
I myself don’t ask if the animals which I kill, when I am hungry, have
wives and children at home.”
“He didn’t do it because he was hungry,” said the widow of the bird of
paradise. “He did it only to present his wife with a tuft of feathers for
her hair.”
“What’s he to do when his wife asks for it?” said the lion. “It’s no joke
falling out with your wife.”
Some of the animals laughed. But most of them shook their heads and
thought it a stupid jest, unworthy of the king of beasts.
4
The next day, the animals of the forest spoke of nothing but Two-Legs.
They one and all had something to complain of:
“He took my whole nest, the other day, with seventeen new-laid eggs in
it,” said the hen.
“There are no fish left in the river,” said the otter. “And one gets
bludgeoned into the bargain.”
“One can no longer graze in peace in the meadows,” said the stag.
But, if sorrow and terror reigned among the larger, important animals,
some of the smaller, insignificant animals did not mind so much and, in
fact, were rather amused at the misfortunes of their betters:
“Why should we care?” asked the fly. “Let the big ones eat one another up
as they please: it doesn’t concern us in any case. And I, for my part,
would rather have Two-Legs than the nightingale.”
“No one is safe,” said the bee. “He took my honey yesterday.”
“Yes,” said the earth-worm. “And, the day before that, he took my own
brother, stuck him on a hook and caught a perch with him.”
[Illustration]
TWO-LEGS ENLARGES HIS POSSESSIONS
[Illustration]
1
Two-Legs sat thinking outside his cave. The dog lay at his feet asleep.
Indoors, Mrs. Two-Legs was busy preparing breakfast.
Two-Legs was in a bad temper, for he had had bad hunting.
The day before, he had scoured the forest without coming upon any game
whatever and he had done no better that morning.
The animals had become afraid of him. His spear had reduced their numbers
so greatly that they fled the moment they saw him come in the distance.
They knew the hours he went hunting and they hid from him. They posted
sentries who warned them with loud cries when he or the dog came in
sight. There was not a stag nor an ox nor a sheep nor a goat in the
country that lay nearest to the cave. Scarcely ever did an animal graze in
the meadow down below in front of it. They had all retired to where the
forest grew thickest and where he could only penetrate with difficulty.
Nor did it give him any pleasure to hunt up there, where the lion might so
easily be lying in ambush.
“Things are looking bad, Trust,” he said to the dog. “We must invent
something new.”
He sat and sharpened his knives and axes, which he had made out of flint,
and then Mrs. Two-Legs came out with the breakfast, which consisted
only of apples and nuts. There was not even a fish to be had. The fish
disappeared as soon as they saw Two-Legs’ reflection in the water.
“I say,” said Two-Legs, suddenly. “It would be much easier if I caught a
couple of sheep and we kept them here in the cave. Then they would get
lambs, which we could kill, and I need not continually and perpetually go
hunting.”
Mrs. Two-Legs thought this a good idea and, as they sat and talked about
it, he recovered his temper. He wove a long rope of tendrils and then went
off with his spear, the dog and two of his sons.
He stole along the borders of the forest until at last he caught sight of
a sheep who was grazing in a distant meadow with two lambs. He crept up to
her on all fours, while Trust received orders to be quite still. When he
was near enough, he flung the sling and was lucky enough to drop it just
over the neck of the sheep. She bleated pitifully, but the noose held fast
and tightened. Two-Legs, rejoicing, led the animal home and the two little
lambs came after, for they did not know what else to do.
When he came home, he fastened the sheep to a tree in front of the cave.
They ate one of the lambs and let the other live. The children ran down
to the meadow and fetched armfuls of grass and the sheep ate and gave her
lamb to drink.
“Do you mean to eat me too?” she asked Two-Legs, that evening, as he sat
outside the cave with his family, rejoicing over his work.
“No,” he said, “I do not. I shall keep you with me and you shall be my
servant, like the dog. To-morrow I shall go out and catch your husband.
Then you shall bear me plenty of lambs; and I shall eat some and put some
by, just as I happen to want them.”
“You killed my sister and pulled off her skin,” said the sheep.
“I know better now,” said Two-Legs. “You shall see for yourself.”