The Tail of a Serpent once rebelled against the Head, and said that it
was a great shame that one end of any animal should always have its
way, and drag the other after it, whether it was willing or no. It was
in vain that the Head urged that the Tail had neither brains nor eyes,
and that it was in no way made to lead.
Wearied by the Tail's importunity, the Head one day let him have his
will. The Serpent now went backward for a long time quite gayly, until
he came to the edge of a high cliff, over which both Head and Tail went
flying, and came with a heavy thump on the shore beneath.
The Head, it may be supposed, was never again troubled by the Tail with
a word about leading.