sheep struggled and yelled grievously, but Two-Legs was determined and she
was bound so tight that resistance was of no avail.
“Now I shall be cold myself when it rains,” cried the sheep.
[Illustration]
“Nonsense!” said Two-Legs. “When it turns cold, I’ll take you into my
cave. I want your wool to make clothes of. It’s no use your raising
difficulties. If you’re good and obedient, you shall have a better time
with me than you ever had in your life.”
2
At night, while Two-Legs slept, the sheep stood outside and thought over
things. The ox stuck his head over the bushes and, a little afterwards,
the stag stood there too and the horse and the goat and many of the other
animals.
“What has he hit upon now?” asked the ox. “The sparrow says that he has
tied you up and cut off your wool.”
“It’s only too true,” replied the sheep. “See for yourself how naked I
am. He has eaten one of my lambs and he is going to catch my husband
to-morrow. But I must say that he has plucked grass for me, so that I have
eaten my fill.”
“It’s awful,” said the ox. “But it’s only what we expected. Can’t you get
loose?”
“I’ve tried,” said the sheep. “But it’s no use. The more I pull, the
tighter the noose gets round my neck. I am a prisoner and a prisoner I
remain.”
“Rather die than live a slave!” said the wolf. “I will do your lamb the
service to eat her.”
So saying, he caught hold of the lamb and bit her in the throat. The sheep
screamed at the top of her voice; Two-Legs woke up and ran out; and all
the animals rushed away.
“You’ve been asleep, Trust,” said Two-Legs. “We must see to-morrow how we
can prevent these accidents. A nice thing, if I am to catch sheep for the
wolf and to fatten them for him to eat!”
3
And the next morning he thought of a remedy.
He and his sons went into the forest and felled some trees with their
axes. Then they cut them into sharp stakes and, after they had prepared a
quantity of these, they planted them in a circle, outside the cave. Then
they wove twigs between the stakes and, by sunset, they had a safe and
strong pen over which no wolf could jump. Two-Legs put the sheep into it.
A few days later, he caught the ram with his sling. He went on hunting
and soon the cow was there and the bull and their calves. The pen was too
small and he had to build a bigger one. The whole family went out to fetch
grass, but could never bring enough. The animals in the pen bleated and
lowed.
At night, they talked together:
[Illustration]
“Candidly speaking,” said the sheep, “this existence has its advantages.
Down there, in the meadow, one never felt sure of one’s life; first the
lion was after one, then the wolf and the snake and the eagle, to say
nothing of Two-Legs himself.”
“There’s something in that,” said the cow. “But I can’t stand the way Mrs.
Two-Legs pulls at my udders. And then I’m not so sure that they don’t mean
to kill me one fine day. There will be too many of us here before long.”
[Illustration]
TWO-LEGS WANDERS
[Illustration]
1
Two-Legs began to find it difficult to provide grass for the many animals
which he had in the pen.
He and his family had long plucked all that grew nearest the cave. Now
they had to go a long way to find any and it was hard work getting it home.
“We shall have to move,” he said to his wife. “We can’t go on dragging
the grass up for all the animals. And, as the grass won’t come to us, we
must go to the grass. We must go down to the meadow again. You will have
to weave us a woollen tent. Then we will get all the skins we can and dig
stakes into the ground and hang the skins over them. That’s the best way.
And then the animals can go and graze round about the tent.”
“But, when they have eaten the grass in the meadow, what then?” asked Mrs.
Two-Legs.
“Then we will pass on to the next one,” Two-Legs answered. “We will pack
up the tent, load it on the back of the cow and move on.”
“If only the animals don’t run away!” said she.
“Trust must help me to look after them,” replied he. “And the boys. Then
all will be well. They know us now and they let us stroke them. You shall
see, they will soon be quite tame.”
The next morning, they began to break up the pen.
“Is he going to set us free?” asked the cow.
“I don’t want to go down to the meadow again,” said the sheep and began to
cry. “My legs are stiffer than they were, and I can’t walk as well as I
used to. And my eyesight is worse and I have hardly any scent left: it’s
so long since I used my senses. I want to stay with Two-Legs and feed out
of his hand.”
“You’ve become a slave already,” said the cow. “And you don’t deserve to
be free. If I see my chance, I shall be off. He killed my calf yesterday:
I shall never forgive him for that.”
“Oh, well,” said the sheep, “suppose we do lose a youngling or two and
even risk losing our own lives, what other fate could we expect in any
case?”
“You have the soul of a serf!” said the cow contemptuously.
Two-Legs had finished breaking down the pen. Meanwhile, his wife had
packed up all their things. They loaded the cow with as much as she could
carry, took up the rest themselves and started on their way to the meadow.
“My fears are now being realized,” said the cow, groaning under the
unwonted burden. “I am dead-tired in my loins and legs.”
And, hardly had they come down to where the meadow began, when she threw
off her load and rushed away, followed by the bull. Trust flew after them,
but they turned round and showed him their horns, which made him run back
with his tail between his legs.
Two-Legs threw his spear at them, but missed them.
“Time will bring counsel,” he said. “I shall go out and catch them again
to-morrow. Let us put up our tent now and arrange our things.”
2
They set up the tent on a little hill from which they could look over
the meadow. At the foot bubbled a spring. Trust drove the sheep into the
meadow and home again. Two-Legs caught the hen, the goose and the duck and
clipped their wings, so that they could not fly away. Gradually, he got a
number of sheep and goats and a quantity of poultry.
[Illustration]
When the animals had eaten all the grass in that place, he struck his tent
and moved to another meadow; and so it went on. It was as if he had quite
forgotten the cow. But, one day, his wife reminded him of her:
“You must get the cow back for me,” she said. “I need her milk so badly.
And both I and the children want new calfskin sandals.”
[Illustration]
Two-Legs took his spear, hung his sling round his neck and went off to
look for the cow. When he had gone some way, he saw her in the distance;
but she saw him too and trotted away at once. The horse, who was standing
a little way off, looked at Two-Legs mockingly:
“You would like to have my four quick legs,” he said.
“I should, indeed!”
“It’s a good thing that there’s something you can’t manage,” said the
horse. “It’s dangerous otherwise, the way you play at being master of the
forest.”
Two-Legs made no reply, but very quietly unwound his lasso. Then, when
he had got it right, he suddenly threw it over the horse’s head. It fell
round the animal’s neck and he reared on his hind-legs and darted away
wildly. But, at every leap he took, the noose drew tighter; and Two-Legs
did not let go the rope. At one moment, he was dragged along the ground
and, at the next, recovered his feet again. He twisted the rope round his
hand and it cut into his flesh till the blood came, but he did not let go.
At last the horse got tired. He stood still quivering in all his limbs.
The foam flew from his mouth.
“What do you want with me?” he said. “My flesh is not nice to eat and my
milk isn’t sweet and I have no wool for you to cut off.”
“I want to borrow your four legs,” said Two-Legs. “You were boasting of
them yourself. Come up! Stand still now! If you’re good, I won’t hurt you.”
He wound the rope round his arm and came closer and closer. He patted the
sweating horse, then suddenly caught hold of his mane and swung himself
upon his back. The horse reared and plunged and kicked his hind-legs high
in the air and tried, in every way, to get rid of his rider. But Two-Legs
held on to the mane and the rope with his hands and gripped tight with
his legs and kept his seat for all the effort it cost him. Gradually, the
horse became quieter again and then Two-Legs patted him on the neck:
“Now go after the cow!” he cried.
He pressed his heels into the horse’s flanks and gave him a smack. Then
they flew in a rousing gallop over the meadow. The cow did not even
attempt to run away, but stood staring in amazement at that wonderful
sight. Before she had collected herself, the lasso was round her neck and
Two-Legs proudly rode home with his capture.
When they reached the tent, he sprang from the horse, patted him and
thanked him, but he made no pretence of taking the noose from the horse’s
neck.
“Won’t you let me go?” asked the horse.
“No,” said Two-Legs. “But I’ll do better for you. You shall now drink from
the spring and then you shall have the juiciest grass to eat that you ever
tasted. After that, you shall lie down and reflect that you are now in
my service and that you can spend the remainder of your days free of all
cares, without the very least anxiety, if only you will be faithful and
willing and do the little bit of work that I shall require of you.”
He fed the horse and fastened him to the door of the tent. The cow stood
tethered close by.
“Shall we see if we can get loose?” whispered the horse, when night came
and Two-Legs was asleep.
“No,” said the cow, shaking her head. “I sha’n’t run away again. I accept
my lot. It was a terrible sight to see him on your back. He is the master
of us all. No one can resist him.”
But the sparrow flew round the forest on her swift wings.
“Two-Legs has caught the horse.... He rides on his back.... He has
fastened him to his tent.... The horse has become Two-Legs’ servant.”
“Have you heard the latest?” the lioness asked her husband. “Do you mean
to let him ride on your back too, when he goes hunting?”
The lion gave a threatening roar:
“He had better just try!” he said.
“He knows what he’s about,” answered the lioness, with a sneer. “And you
just keep out of his way, coward and degenerate that you are!”
The lion laid his head on his paw and said nothing, but brooded dark
thoughts.
[Illustration]
TWO-LEGS SOWS
[Illustration]
1
Two-Legs moved with his herd from one meadow to the other.
The herd increased year by year, as did his family. Mrs. Two-Legs had now
borne her husband seven sons and seven daughters, who were all doing well
and helping in the house and with the cattle.
And the animals were more and more pleased to be in his service.
The horse carried him when he went hunting and walked beside him when he
struck the tent and moved to a new pasturage. He came at Two-Legs’ call
and neither he nor any other animals thought seriously of running away, so
that Trust had an easy job in watching over them. Now and then they felt
an inclination for freedom, especially when they were talking to the wild
animals. But it went no further than the inclination.
For instance, one night in the rainy season, the stag came to the tent
which Two-Legs had put up to protect his animals:
“Well, you’re nice and dry here,” said the stag and looked enviously into
the tent.
“You’re right,” replied the sheep. “It is really much better than in the
old days, when we used to take shelter under a tree and get drenched all
the same.”
[Illustration]
“Just so,” said the cow. “And in the dry season too it was pleasant
every day to get our food, which Two-Legs had stored up for us, instead
of having to go all over the country as before, in search of a blade of
grass.”
“But I thought you had to drudge for it,” said the stag. “I have often
seen you drudging and toiling for your master.”
“One good turn deserves another,” said the horse. “For the rest, I can’t
deny that my presentiments have been fulfilled. All my limbs hurt me
terribly after the day’s work.”
“And so do ours,” said the ox and the cow.
The duck, the goose and the hen agreed. But the sheep shook her fat head,
while she went on chewing the cud:
“I can’t remember what sort of presentiment I had,” she said. “I am well
off as I am.”
“Are you grumbling over there?” asked Trust, who was keeping watch and
never slept with more than one eye shut. “Shall I call the master?”
The stag took fright and ran away. But the horse said:
“No, please do nothing of the sort. He has worked hard himself to-day and
is no doubt as tired as we are. It would be a sin to wake him.”
Then it grew still in the tent.
But Two-Legs in his own tent was not asleep.
On the contrary, he was wide awake, thinking over things, and his wife
could not sleep either, for she was thinking too.
“I am sick of wandering about the country,” he said at last. “We are no
longer young, we have a very big family and sometimes the work makes me
tired.”
“Me too,” said Mrs. Two-Legs. “But that has nothing to do with it. We are
obliged to move about to get the grass we want.”
Two-Legs said nothing for the moment.
He rose and went out into the rain, had a look at his animals and then
came back again and sat down in his old place. The lion was roaring
outside in the meadow.
“Did you hear him?” asked Mrs. Two-Legs.
Two-Legs nodded.
“Tell me,” he said, after a while, “where does the grass come from?”
“You know as well as I do,” she said. “We have often talked of how it
scatters its seed and how the seed shoots up between the old withered
blades when the rain comes.”
“Quite right,” said Two-Legs. “And why shouldn’t we collect the seed and
sow it ourselves? Now, if we pull up all the old grass and take the seed
of the kind which our animals like best, we ought to be able to make it
grow much thicker. And then we could reap the seed again and sow it again
and go on living in the same place year after year.”
“Oh, if we could only do that!” cried Mrs. Two-Legs and clapped her hands.
“Why not?” said Two-Legs. “And, if we succeed in this, then we can build a
proper, solid house for ourselves and our animals. I am sure that we can
fell the biggest trees with our flint axes, if only we have the patience
and persevere. As soon as the rain stops, I shall go out and look for a
place where we can settle down for the rest of our days.”
2
A week later, the sky was clear again. Two-Legs mounted his horse, took
leave of his family and said that he would not come home before he had
found what he sought. He did not return till the evening of the third day
and ordered them to pack up early next morning and go with him.
When they came to the place, they had to admit that he had made a good
choice.
It was easy to see that the ground was good and fertile, everything around
grew so fresh and luxuriant. There was a large, open field and on one side
of it was the forest, on the other a meadow, which, in its turn, ran down
to a great lake, where fish leapt and played. Beyond the lake were the
distant blue mountains, which were beautiful to look at and to dream of.
Just at the edge of the forest lay a hill, at whose foot a brook flowed.
The brook ran into the river, which wound through the meadow, and the
river ran into the lake.
And the field and the meadow were full of all kinds of grass and flowers.
There were poppies larger and redder than Two-Legs had ever seen. And
there were bluebells and carrots, convolvuluses and corn-flowers. They
grew and spread themselves as they pleased, for they themselves were the
lords of the land.
“This is where we shall settle,” said Two-Legs. “We shall build a big,
strong house on the hill, with stables for our animals and a palisade
outside to keep off those who wish us harm. Let us start without delay.
You’ll see something, once the house is there!”
He and his sons set to work at once felling trees.
They laboured patiently day after day; but they had to chop hard with
their stone axes before the big trees gave way. A cry of dismay went from
tree to tree, far into the forest:
“What is happening?... What does he want with us?... Why must we die?”
whispered the trees to one another.
3
But Two-Legs and his sons heard nothing and saw nothing. They worked and
worked till they had what they wanted. And then they built a strong wooden
house on the hill, built two houses, then three: one for themselves, a
stable for the animals and a big long house for which Two-Legs had a
purpose of which he did not speak for the present.
They closed up all the chinks with moss. And round the whole farm they
built a palisade of tall stakes and woven twigs, which made a good wall to
protect them against their enemies.
“That’s that,” said Two-Legs. “Now to work!”
He told his wife to sew a leather bag for himself and one for each of the
family. Then they went to the field and the meadow and filled their bags
with seed of every sort of grass that they wanted to sow.
“Won’t you have a few of my seeds?” asked the poppy, shedding her scarlet
petals. “I have thousands of them in my head and I am the prettiest in the
land.”
“You may be pretty,” said Two-Legs, “but I have no use for you.”
“You’ve passed me by,” said the violet, modestly.
“You’re forgetting me,” cried the thistle. “I am the proudest and
strongest in the whole meadow.”
“But I am the toughest,” cried the dock.
“Mind you take none of their seed,” said Two-Legs to his family. “Our
animals don’t eat them.”
So they went home with full bags and out and home again, until they had
heaped up a mighty store.
“Now we will prepare the ground,” said Two-Legs. “Come, my dear horse, and
lend me your strength, as you have done before.”
He made a plough, harnessed the horse to it and drove it across the field,
step by step and furrow after furrow. He rejoiced when he saw the earth
turn under the stone blades of the plough.
“What’s the meaning of this?” said the poppy and was forthwith ploughed
over.
“It’s no use,” cried the thistle. “Our seed will come up and tease you.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Two-Legs.
Then he told his family to pull up all the thistles and throw them away.
And, when he had ploughed as much as he wanted, he took the grass-seed
which they had gathered and sowed it in the good, fresh earth.
“Now we must wait for the rain,” he said, “and see how things go.”
4
And the rainy season came and things went as Two-Legs had hoped.
[Illustration: TWO-LEGS HAD MADE A GOOD CHOICE]
Little green shoots sprouted all over the ploughed field, all alike, all
grass of the kind which the animals loved. Here and there, it is true, a
thistle appeared and a poppy; but most of it was good grass.
“Look!” said Two-Legs, gladly. “Now we only want the sunshine and then it
will grow.”
The sun came and the whole field was a lovely green carpet which grew so
that one could see it grow from day to day.
One morning, the stag came to the edge of the forest and beheld all this
with amazement. Then he shouted into the forest to his family:
“Come along! Here’s the finest field of grass you ever saw in your lives!
Hurry up and come. I’ve started grazing already.”
“You’ve started grazing, have you?” cried Two-Legs and came rushing up
with his spear. “Out of this, you thief! Do you imagine that I have sown
corn in the sweat of my brow for you to eat? Get out of it! This field
belongs to me!”
The stag fled as fast as he could into the forest. But the sparrow flew
round and told the news on every hand:
“Two-Legs has taken a great piece of land which no one is allowed to
touch. He called the stag a thief when he tried to graze on it.”
[Illustration]
TWO-LEGS ENJOYS LIFE
[Illustration]
1
When the time came, Two-Legs filled the house which he had built for a
barn with the produce of his field. And the harvest was hardly gathered
before he began to think of next year.
He ploughed a new field and another and sowed them. The year after, he
cleared a part of the forest and tilled that.
And so he went on year by year, until he had cultivated the land as far as
he could see from his house on the hill.
Round the house he had planted a garden with the fruit-trees and herbs
which he had a use for. The fields lay in long, even strips, each with its
own sort of grass or corn. The whole was fenced in; and Two-Legs was hard
upon any who destroyed his work or stole his property.
2
It looked as though he were the lord of the earth. No one dared set
himself up against him. His herd increased from day to day and the wild
animals fled far away as soon as they saw a sign of him or his. In the
depths of the forest, however, and under the cover of the darkness and
whenever they felt safe from him, they talked of the old days when they
themselves were the masters, of the shame that it was that he should
subjugate them so and of their hopes of better times:
“He throws stones at a poor bird that picks a grain of corn in his field,”
said the sparrow.
“Yesterday, he drove me out of the hazel-hedge round his garden,” said the
squirrel.
“He shot an arrow into my left wing because I took a lamb,” said the eagle.
“He has driven me right out of the forest,” said the wolf. “He told me
that all the game belonged to him and that, if I dared touch it, he would
persecute me and my cubs to the end of the world, if need be.”
“Perhaps he’ll take it into his head to-morrow to say that all the meadows
are his,” cried the stag. “And where are we to graze then?”
The thistle, the poppy and the bluebell pressed close against the hedge.
The violet hid herself in the ditch and the stinging-nettle stood gloomily
and angrily outside Two-Legs’ garden fence.
“Are we any better off?” asked the thistle. “We’ve been driven from home
and have to stand against the hedge and look on while the silly grass
spreads all over the field. We are at his mercy; he can take our lives any
day he pleases.”
“He has planted some of my sisters in his garden,” said the violet.
“And some of mine,” said the poppy. “But that’s not liberty.”
[Illustration: ‘HE SHOT AN ARROW INTO MY LEFT WING’]
“Prick him, thistle!” said the tall oak.
“I did and he struck me with his stick,” replied the thistle.
“Sting him, nettle!” said the oak.
“I did,” said the nettle, “and I came off no better than the thistle.”
In the corn, however, a glad whisper ran from one end of the field to the
other.
“It is we ... it is we ... it is we ... it is we that reign in the land
now.... We are good.... We are useful.... You are nothing but weeds.”
“Hear them, the cowardly dogs!” said the thistle.
“We can do nothing,” said the bluebell. “Why don’t you big trees fall down
on him and crush him and his brood?”
“That’s a ticklish matter, falling down,” said the oak. “But have we not a
king of the forest to protect us? Where is the lion?”
“Yes the lion ... Where is the lion?” they all cried.
But the lion was not there and did not come.
[Illustration]
3
Two-Legs sat at home in his garden, under a big apple-tree, surrounded by
all his family.
He cast his eyes over his fields, on which the corn waved, and up into the
apple-tree, which hung full of delicious, yellow fruit. One of his sons
had just come back from the lake with a couple of big fish. Another was
hunting in the forest; now they heard his call and he stood at the edge of
the wood with a fat roebuck over his shoulders.
A third was busy making a plough: he wanted to improve upon the old one.
And all the rest were working at one thing or another. The girls were busy
in the kitchen or turning the mill-wheel.
“We have had luck on our side,” said Two-Legs to his wife. “Everything
thrives and grows under our hands. And our children will do better than we
and their children better still. I hardly dare picture the power and glory
which our race may yet achieve.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Two-Legs. “Things are going well with us. Remind me to
strew a little corn for the sparrows, when the bad times come.”
“I sha’n’t forget,” said he. “We have such plenty now that we can afford
to give those little thieves a helping hand. And I like to hear them
twittering when I get up in the morning.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration: HE STOOD AT THE EDGE OF THE WOOD]
THE OLD ANIMALS TAKE COUNSEL
[Illustration]
1
The complaints of the wild animals increased daily.
“One no longer knows what one dare do and what not,” said the mole.
“Yesterday, my cousin was throwing up earth, as our family have done ever
since they existed. At that moment, he was caught and killed by one of
Two-Legs’ sons, because the mole-hill appeared in the middle of one of his
flower-beds.”
“His daughter killed my wife, because she thought her ugly,” said a young
spider. “Not that my wife was nice to me. She wanted to eat me immediately
after the wedding and I had a narrow escape. But, apart from that, she was
the most inoffensive person under the sun and really never hurt a soul.
Except the flies, of course.”