Once upon a time there was a Tortoise that lived in a pond. He was a most worthy Tortoise, but he had one fault, he would talk in season and out of season; all day long it was chatter, chatter, chatter in that pond, until the fish said that they would rather live on dry land than put up with it any longer.

But the Tortoise had two friends, a pair of young Geese, who used to fly about near the pond in search of food. And when they heard that things were getting hot for the Tortoise in that pond, because he talked so much, they flew up to him and cried eagerly:

“Oh, Tortoise! do come along with us! We have such a beautiful home away in the mountains, where you may talk all day long, and nobody shall worry you there!”

“All very well,” grumbled the Tortoise, “but how am I to get there? I can’t fly!”

“Oh, we’ll carry you, if you can only keep your mouth shut for a little while.”

“Yes, I can do that,” says he, “when I like. Let us be off.”

So the Geese picked up a stout stick, and one Goose took one end in her bill and the other Goose took the other end, and then they told the Tortoise to get hold in the middle; “only be careful,” said they, “not to talk.”

The Tortoise set his teeth fast on the stick, and held on like grim death, while the Geese, flapping their strong wings, rose in the air and flew towards their home.

All went well for a time. But it so happened that some boys were looking up in the air, and were highly amused by what they saw.

“Look there!” cried one to the rest, “two Geese carrying a Tortoise on a stick!”

The Tortoise on hearing this was so angry that he forgot all about his danger, and opened his mouth to cry out: “What’s that to you? Mind your own business!” But he got no farther than the first word; for when his mouth opened he loosed the stick, down he dropped, and fell with a crash on the stones.

The talkative Tortoise lay dead, with his shell cracked in two.

Once upon a time there was a beautiful park, full of all manner of trees and shrubs, with beds of flowers set here and there, and no end of fruit-trees. A gardener used to take care of this park; pruning the trees when they made too much wood, and digging the ground, and watering the flowers in dry weather.

It happened that there was a fair to be held away in the city, and the gardener very much wanted to go. But who would take care of the park and garden? If his master came in and found all the flowers drooping or dead, what would he say then! It would never do.

Meditating thus, and in doubt, he looked up into the branches of the trees, and a bright thought struck him. I must tell you that in this park there were not only herds of deer, and plenty of rabbits and other creatures that usually live in parks, but there were troops of monkeys in the trees, who climbed and chattered and cracked nuts all day long, with no lessons to do. And when the gardener cast up his eyes to the trees, he saw some monkeys that he knew very well indeed. Many a time he had been kind to them; and now he thought they should do the like by him, as one good turn deserves another.

So the gardener called out, “Monkeys, I want you!”

Down they all clambered, and in a very short time they were sitting beside him on the grass.

“Monkeys,” said he, “I have been a good friend to you, letting you eat my nuts and apples. And now I want to take a holiday. Will you water my garden while I am away?”

“Oh yes, yes, yes!” cried the Monkeys. They thought it a great joke, and leaped for joy.

So the gardener handed over his watering-pots to the monkeys, and put on his Sunday clothes, and went away to the fair.

Meanwhile,the Monkeys held a solemn council, sitting in a ring round the Monkey chief.

“Brothers,” said the Monkey chief, “our good friend, the gardener has given us charge of this garden and all there is in it. We must take care not to hurt anything, and, above all, not to waste the water. There is very little water, and I really don’t think it will go round.”

It was in fact a well, very small at the top, but very deep, and at the bottom the water was always running. You might have watered till doomsday out of that well; but monkeys, though they are cunning, are not wise, and these monkeys thought that a little round hole could not hold very much water.

“So you see,” the Monkey chief went on, “you must give each plant just enough water, and no more; and I think the best way will be, to see how long the roots are.”

So each Monkey took a watering-pot, and they scattered all over the garden. Every bush and every plant they carefully pulled up, and measured its roots; and then they gave a great deal of water to plants with long roots, and only a little when the roots were short. After that they put the plants and bushes back in the holes they came from.

After a day or two, back came the gardener from his fair. But what was his horror to see that nearly all the plants in the garden were drooping, some of them dead and many dying, while the Monkeys were busy in every direction pulling up the rest.

“Oh dear, oh dear, what in the world are you doing? My garden is ruined, my garden is ruined!” The poor gardener wept for sorrow.

The Chief Monkey was very much surprised. He thought he had been very clever to put water according to the size of the roots, and he said so.

“Clever!” said the gardener. “Clever indeed! Fools you are, there is no mistake about it.”

“Fools they may be,” said his master, who had come up behind him without being seen, “but, after all, that is their nature. You ought to have known better than to put monkeys in charge of a garden, and you are a greater fool than they.”

Then he sent that gardener away and got another.

Once upon a time there was a very powerful Goblin, who haunted a little house just outside the gates of a city. Nobody else lived in this house. There was a big black beam that ran across from one side to the other, up in the roof; and there this Goblin perched. For twelve years he had served the King of the Goblins faithfully, and as a reward he was now permitted to gobble up any man who sneezed inside that house; and, indeed, that is why these creatures are called Goblins. But if, when a man sneezed, some one else said, “God bless you!” as people do say, or “May you live a hundred years!” then the man who said it was free; and if the other answered, “The same to you!” he was free too. Everybody but these the Goblin might gobble up for a single sneeze.

Now it fell out that one day a father and son were travelling along the road, and they came to the city gates just as the sun went down. I must tell you that in those days the people used to shut the city gates fast at sunset, and nothing would make them open again till the morning—they were horribly afraid of robbers or wild soldiers, who might come and damage them in the night. So when these two wayfarers came up to the gates, and wanted to go in, the porter said no.

“Now, do we look like robbers?” asked the father. Certainly they did not, dusty and grimy with their trudge, and a bag of tools over the shoulder.

“Robbers or no robbers, orders are orders,” said the porter, “and this gate doesn’t open for the King himself.”

“Well, what are we to do?” The poor fellow was in despair.

“Oh, there’s an empty house outside; there it is among the trees. It is haunted, they say; but I daresay the Goblin won’t hurt you.”

“Goblin!—well, we must take our chance, I suppose.” Indeed, there was nothing for it; so to the house they went. They rested, and cooked a meal for themselves on a fire of sticks, and then prepared to go to sleep.

The Goblin, however, was not going to let them off so easily; he wanted his dinner too. After waiting a long time, with never a sneeze from one or the other, he raised a cloud of fine dust; that was rather mean of him, but still he was very hungry, and did not stick at trifles. Sure enough, the father nearly sneezed his head off.

The Goblin chuckled, and made ready to pounce from his perch and devour the pair of them. But the son happened to see him, and, being a sharp lad, he guessed the truth. “God bless you, father!” says he; “may you live a hundred years!”

How the Goblin gnashed his teeth! However, if his pudding was lost, his meat was left; so he stretched out a great claw to clutch the father and tear him to pieces.

Just then the father cried, “Thank you, my son, and the same to you!”

He was only just in time; the claw was within an inch of his throat; but the Goblin, baffled, flew up to his perch again, and sat mouthing and mumbling there.

Then the son began to talk to this Goblin, and showed him the error of his ways, and how cruel he was to eat men; and the end of it was, he persuaded the Goblin to become a vegetarian, and to follow him about, and be his errand-boy. You will think this was a very soft-hearted Goblin. Perhaps no one had ever spoken kindly to him before; anyhow, whatever the reason was, he went out with the two travellers, as tame as a tabby cat; and for all I know, they may be travelling together to this very day.

Once upon a time there was a King, and he had a son. And this son was so cruel and disagreeable, that he took a delight in hurting people, and never spoke to anybody without an oath or a blow. He was a thorn in the flesh to everybody he came across; he was like grit in the porridge, like a fly in the eye, like a stone in the shoon. And they called him the Wicked Prince.

One day the Wicked Prince went down to the river to bathe, along with a number of servants. By-and-by a great storm came on, and the clouds were so thick that it became pitch-dark. However, this Prince was obstinate, and would not give up his bathe; and as he was too lazy even to bathe himself, he swore at his servants, and said:

“You lazy beasts! Bathe me, and look sharp about it, or I’ll tickle you with a cat-o’-nine-tails!”

Now the servants had had enough of this young bully; and thought they, “What if we pitch him into the river, where the current is strong, and just leave him there! We can easily pretend he was carried away where we could not reach him; and if the King finds us out, and puts us to death—anyhow, death is better than his eternal bullying.” So they pitched him head over heels into the water, though he screamed and struggled, and then they went home and told the King that he had gone in to bathe, and a flood carried him away. I daresay it was wicked of them to tell such a lie, but it was more the Prince’s fault than theirs.

Meanwhile the Prince had got hold of a tree that had been torn up by the roots, and climbing upon it, went floating down the river.

Now on the banks of this river lived a Snake. This Snake had once been a very rich man, and he had buried a vast treasure on the river bank; and he loved his riches more than he loved his own soul, so when he died, he was born again as a Snake, and had to live for ever close to his buried hoard. And a Rat that lived close by had also been a man once, and buried his money as the Snake had done, instead of using it in doing good; so he was born as a Rat, and made a hole where his money lay. These two creatures were caught by the flood, and it so happened that they saw the tree where the Wicked Prince was, and swimming to it, each got on one end, while the Prince was in the middle. And a young Parrot flying through the air, was beaten down by the rain; for in that country the drops of rain are as big as pigeons’ eggs, and no birds can fly through it. Then it so happened that this Parrot dropped down upon the same tree where the Snake was, and the Rat, and the Wicked Prince; and so there were four of them on the tree, floating down the river.

As the tree came near to a bend in the river, it was washed close to the bank. And on the bank a man was sitting. He did not mind the rain a bit, because he was a Hermit, who thought the world so wicked that he left it and went to live in the jungle all by himself. He built himself a little hut by the riverside, and, wet or fine, he cared not a jot. This man saw the tree, and managed to catch hold of it and pull it ashore. Then he got the four creatures off it, and took them into his hut, and dried them and warmed them by the fire. But he began with the Parrot, because she looked the most miserable of them all; and then he dried the Rat; and next the Snake; and only attended to the man when he had comforted the other three. This made the Wicked Prince very angry. If he abused even those who made much of him, you may imagine how he cursed and swore in his heart at this man who left him to the last! But he said nothing, because he was afraid that if he did the man might turn him out in the storm again.

In a day or two the rain stopped, and the flood went down; and the creatures were all right again as they took their leave of the Hermit. The Snake thanked him for his kindness and said:

“You have saved my life, good Hermit! What can I do for you? You seem to be a poor man; I am rich, and if you ever want money just come to my hole and call ‘Snake,’ and you shall have all my treasure. Good-bye!” The Rat said the same.

The Parrot was very sorry to think that she had no money, so she said: “Silver and gold have I none; but if you ever are hungry, and want some rice, come to my tree and call ‘Parrot,’ and I’ll get you as much rice as ever you like.”

But the Wicked Prince hated this kind Hermit, because he had been left to the last. However, he pretended to be grateful, and said to the Hermit: “I hope you will pay me a visit soon. I am a Prince, and I shall be glad of a chance to repay you for all you have done for me.” Then he went away, chuckling to think how he would torment the poor Hermit, if ever he got him into his power.

This Hermit had all his wits about him, and he knew that people often promise what they never mean to do; so after a while he thought he would put them all to the test. So first he took his stick, and journeyed to the city where the Wicked Prince lived. The Prince, who was King himself now, saw him coming, and thought to himself: “Aha! here’s that rascal that left me to the last. Wants me to pay him for it, I suppose! Well, I’ll pay him! I’ll pay him out!” So he called to his men: “Hi there, brutes! do you see that fellow? He tried to rob me the other day—just catch him and give him a flogging, and then stick a stake through his body, and leave him to die!”

Then the servants caught the Hermit, and flogged him well. But the Hermit did not cry out or grumble, only kept on saying to himself quietly: “The proverb’s true, the proverb’s true!”

“What proverb do you mean?” they asked him.

“It’s unlucky to save a drowning man,” said the Hermit.

Then he told them the whole story, and very angry they were when they heard it. They stopped beating the Hermit at once, and seizing the Wicked King, they beat him instead, and stuck a stake through his body, and left him to die.

Then they made the Hermit King instead of the Wicked Prince. And the Hermit took them a walk into the country, and when they came to the Snake’s hole he called out “Snake!” Out came the Snake, and curled up against his feet, and showed him the hole where his treasure was; and the Hermit gave it all to his servants. And then they went to the Rat’s hole, and he called out “Rat!” And the Rat ran up, and rubbed his nose against the King’s hand, and gave him all his treasure, which the King gave to his servants as well as the other. And last of all they went to the Parrot’s tree, and called “Parrot!” And the Parrot flew up and gave a call, and instantly all the air was black with Parrots. And all the Parrots carried a grain of rice in their beaks, and dropped it on the ground; and there was such a heap of rice, that it was enough to feed all the people for the rest of their lives.

So the grateful beasts kept their promise, and the ungrateful Prince was killed, and the Hermit ruled over his people kindly, and they all lived happily until they died. And when they died they all went to heaven; and the Snake and the Rat and the Parrot went there too, because they had at last overcome their love of money, and given it away to show how grateful they were to the Hermit for being kind to them.

Animals in the forest have no bottles and glasses to drink out of, so if they are thirsty they have to go down to a pool. Now in a certain great forest there was a pool, in which lived a horrible Goblin. He was big and black, like an immense monkey, with an immense mouth, and four rows of sharp teeth; but he could not come out of the water, because he had no nose, but only gills like a fish. So if any animal came down into the water to get a drink, he pounced upon him at once and gobbled him up; but he could not touch the animals while they remained on the bank.

One year there was a great drought, and the sun was so hot that it dried up all the water in that forest for many miles round, except the pool where this Goblin was; but this pool was very deep and cool, under the trees, and therefore it was not dried up. There was a herd of monkeys who had been wandering about for a long time in search of water, but found none, until they came to this pool. But the King of the Monkeys was very clever, and he noticed that there were a great many footprints going down to the water, and none coming away. So he warned his Monkeys not to go near that pool. However, one of them was very thirsty, and ran down into the water; but as soon as he got into the water, and was having a delicious drink—suddenly he disappeared! There were some bubbles, and no more was seen of the Monkey. The other Monkeys watched for a long time, wondering what had become of their friend; and then another, who was so thirsty that he could not help it, stepped quietly into the water and began to drink. In an instant he gave a shriek and threw up his hands, and the others saw him dragged down below the water! A few bubbles came up to the top and burst, but the poor Monkey was gone.

What were they to do? They were dying of thirst, and yet they were afraid to drink; the banks were high, and they could not reach the water from the top. So they all sat round the banks, looking at the water, very unhappy.

By-and-by a man came down to the side of the pool. He wanted a drink of water, but he had no glass. So he looked round, and then he saw the Monkeys sitting on the bank, very unhappy.

“What’s the matter?” said he.

“Don’t go into that pool!” said the King of the Monkeys. “If you do, you will be drowned, like our two poor friends!”

Then they told him how their friends had gone into the water to drink, and how they had both been pulled underneath and drowned, none of them could tell how.

The man understood at once that it was a Goblin. So he pulled up a long reed that was growing on the bank of the pool and cut off the ends, and then he put down one end of it into the water and sucked at the other end, and the water came up from the pool into his mouth. At this the Monkeys were delighted, and they all pulled up reeds from the bank (for you know a monkey always imitates what he sees men do), and sucked up the water through them, and so quenched their thirst without going into the pool. And the Goblin, finding that no more food was to be got, died of starvation; and a good thing too.

Once there was a foolish Farmer, who had a son at court, serving the King. This Farmer was a very poor man, and all he had to plough his fields with was one pair of oxen. Two oxen was all he had, and one of them died.

The poor Farmer was in despair. One ox was not enough to draw the plough over the heavy land; and he had no money to buy another. So he sent a message to his son, that he was wanted at home.

When the son came, his father told him that one of his oxen was dead, and he had no money to buy another. So he begged his son to ask the King to give him an ox.

“No, no,” said his son, “I am always asking the King for something. If you want an ox, you must ask him yourself.”

“I can’t do it!” said the poor Farmer. “You know what a muddle-head I am. If I go to ask the King for another ox, I shall end by giving him this one!”

“Well, what must be, must be,” said his son. “Anyhow, I cannot ask the King: but I’ll train you to do it.”

So he led his father to a place which was dotted all over with clumps of grass. The young courtier tied up a number of bundles of this grass, and arranged them in rows. “Now, look here, father,” said he, “this is the King, that is the Prime Minister, that is the General, here are the other grandees,” pointing to each bundle as he said the name. “When you come into the King’s presence, you must begin by saying: ‘Long live the King!’ and then ask your boon.” To help him to remember, the son made up a little verse for his father to say, and this is the verse:

“Well,” said the Farmer, “I think I can say that.” And he repeated it over and over, bowing and scraping to the bunch of grass that he called the King.

Every day for a whole year the Farmer practised; and how the ploughing got on meanwhile I do not know. Perhaps he lived on the seed-corn, and did not plough at all.

At the end of the year he said to his son:

“Now I know that little verse of yours! Now I can say it before any man! Take me to the King!”

So together father and son trudged away to the King’s palace. There on a throne he sat, in gorgeous robes, with his courtiers all around him, the Prime Minister, the General, and all, just as the young man had told his father. But the poor Farmer! his head was beginning to swim already.

“Who is this?” said the King to the Farmer’s son, who, as you know, was a courtier, so the King knew him.

“It is my father, Sire,” he answered.

“What does he want?” the King asked.

All eyes were turned on the Farmer, who by this time was as red as a turkey-cock, and hardly knew whether he stood on head or heels. However, he plucked up courage, and out came the verse, as pat as a pancake:

The King couldn’t help laughing; and he saw there must be a mistake somewhere. “Plenty of oxen at home, eh!” said he, keeping up the joke.

“If so, Sire,” said the Farmer’s son with a bow, “you must have given them.”

The King thought that rather neat. “If I have not given you any so far,” said he, smiling, “I will do it now.”

And when the pair got home, the Farmer in despair at his blunder, lo and behold in his cowhouse were half a dozen of the finest oxen he had ever seen! So the poor old Farmer got his oxen, though he did make a muddle of the verse.

Once there was a flood, and there was a large rock with a Wolf sleeping on the top. The water came pouring around the rock, and when the Wolf awoke he found himself imprisoned, with no way of getting off, and nothing to eat.

“H’m!” said he to himself, “here I am, caught fast sure enough, and here I shall have to stay yet awhile. Nothing to eat, either! Well,” he thought, after a pause, “it is Friday to-day, when people say you ought to fast. Suppose I keep a holy fast to-day? A capital idea!” So he crossed his paws, and pretended to pray, and thought himself very good and pious to be fasting.

A fairy saw this, and heard what he said; and she thought she would just see how much was real and how much was sham. So she changed herself into the shape of a pretty little Kid, and jumped down out of the air on to the rock.

The Wolf opened an eye to see what the noise could be, and there was a tender little Kid, standing on the rock. He forgot his prayers in a minute. “Aha!” said he. “A Kid! I can keep my Friday fast to-morrow. Now for the Kid!” He smacked his lips, and jumped at the Kid.

But the Kid jumped away, and, try as he would, he could not come near it. You know it was the fairy, and the fairy did not let herself be caught.

After trying to catch the Kid for some time the Wolf lay down again. “After all,” said he, “it is Friday; and perhaps I had best keep my fast to-day.”

“You humbug!” said the fairy, who had gone back to her proper shape; “you are a nice creature to pretend that you are keeping fast! You fast because you can’t help it, not because you are really good. As a punishment, you shall stay on this rock till next Friday, and fast for a week!”

So saying, she opened her wings and flew far away.

Once upon a time there was a big horse called Chestnut. He was as fierce as a fury, and bit everybody who came near him; his groom always had a broken bone, or a bruise at the least; and, as for the other horses, let Chestnut loose in the herd, and there was a fine to-do: a kick for one, a bite for another; it was hurry, skurry, worry, till they took themselves off and left him alone in the clover.

Now the King wanted to buy some horses, and a dealer had driven down a couple of hundred of them for the King to buy. But the King was a skinflint, and wanted to get them cheap; so he dropped a hint to his groom, that it would not be a bad thing if Chestnut made acquaintance with these horses; at the same time, he dropped a gold piece in the groom’s hand. So the groom led Chestnut by this new herd, and, all of a sudden, he quietly flicked Chestnut with his whip; Chestnut reared and plunged, the groom shouted, and, pretending to find the horse too strong for him, let go the halter. Off galloped Chestnut, kicking up his heels in the air, roaring and whinnying; and fine fun he had among the new horses! By the time he had done with them, hardly one had a whole skin.

The poor dealer was in despair. He would be ruined! And next day, when the King came to see the horses, he turned up his nose. “Pooh! do you suppose I want bruised old hacks like that? Look at that sore! And here is a broken jaw! Why, half of them limp!” In vain the dealer protested that it was Chestnut’s fault; the King only laughed, and asked if he expected him to believe that one horse could do all that mischief. (And yet, as you know, it was one horse, and at the King’s own bidding too.) However, it was a pity that he should have to take them back again, the King said; so, if he liked, as a favour, he would buy the horses, at half price.

The dealer was not taken in by this, but he pretended to be very grateful, and went home again, wondering what he could do. He was afraid to offend the King, and, indeed, very few people were rich enough to buy his splendid horses. So he knew that he would be obliged to take some more down to the King another time. Then he suddenly remembered he had just such another vicious brute at home, named Strongjaw, that nobody could do anything with. “Aha!” said he; “I have it! I’ll take Strongjaw down with me next time, and if he does not prove a match for Chestnut I am very much mistaken.” He chuckled with glee as he thought what a fine fight there would be between the two.

Next time, as he had resolved, he brought Strongjaw with the drove, and as soon as the King’s groom came by with Chestnut, and let him go as he did before, the dealer’s eyes twinkled, and he let out Strongjaw. Chestnut pricked up his ears, and Strongjaw pricked up his; then, without taking any notice of the rest, they trotted up to each other and rubbed noses, and began to lick each other all over. They did not fight at all, but in a moment they became bosom friends.

The dealer could not understand this, neither could the King. However, this time the King had to pay a good price for the horses, and as he saw his little trick was found out, he felt rather ashamed of himself, and so he paid the man for the other horses as well. Still, they kept wondering and wondering what the reason could be that these two horses, each so fierce and wild, were quiet as a pair of kittens together. The King asked the wisest man in all his kingdom to explain it; and the man, who was a minstrel, that is, he used to sing songs to the King about all that had happened or would happen in the world, took up his harp and sang:

Some people were steaming peas under a tree, in order to make a meal for their horses. Up in the branches sat a Monkey, who watched with his restless eyes what they were doing.

“Aha!” thought the Monkey. “I spy my dinner!”

So when they had finished steaming the peas, and turned away for a moment to look after the horses, gently, gently, the Monkey let himself down from the tree. He grabbed at the peas, and stuffed his mouth with them, and both hands as full as they could hold, then he clambered up to his perch as best he could. There he sat, his wizened old face happy and cunning, eating the peas.

Suddenly one pea fell.

“O dear, O dear! O my pea, my pea!” cried the Monkey, gibbering in distress. The other peas began to fall out of his mouth, but he did not notice them. He wrung his hands in despair, and the peas began to fall out of his hands too, but he took no notice. All he thought of was this, that one pea was gone.

So he shinned down the trunk, and scrambled about on the ground, hunting for his lost pea, but he could not find it anywhere.

By this time the men had come back, after seeing to their horses. When they saw a monkey meddling with their cooking-pots they all waved their arms, and called out, “Shoo! shoo!” Then they picked up stones, and began to pelt the Monkey with them. This terrified the Monkey so much that he gave one jump to the nearest branch, and swung himself up to the top of the tree.

“After all,” said he to himself, “it was only one pea.” But he ought to have thought of that before, for now like a thunderclap, it came home to him, that somehow or other all the other peas had gone too.

That day the Monkey had to content himself with the smell of boiled peas for dinner, and I hope the loss taught him not to be so greedy in future.

Once upon a time a number of fish lived in a little pool. It was all very well while there was rain; but when summer came, and it began to be very hot, the water dried up and got lower and lower, until there was hardly enough to hide the fish.

Now not far away there was a beautiful lake, always fresh and cool; for it lay under the shadow of great trees, and it was covered all over with water-lilies. And a Crane lived on the banks of this lake.

The Crane used to eat fish, when he could catch any; and one day, coming to the little pool, he saw all the fish gasping in it, and thought of a neat trick to get hold of them without trouble.

“Dear Fish,” said the Crane, “I am so sorry to see you cooped up in this hole. I know a beautiful lake close by, deep and fresh and cool, and if you like I will carry you there.”

The Fish did not know what to make of this, because never since the world began had a crane done a good turn to a fish. You see it is just as absurd to suppose that a crane would help fish, as to think that a cat would be kind to a mouse.

So they said to the Crane, “We don’t believe you; what you want is to eat us.”

This was just what the Crane did want, but he did not say so. “No, no!” said he; “I’m not so cruel as all that. I have eaten a fish now and then”—he saw it was of no use denying that, because they knew he had—“but I have plenty of other food, and it goes to my heart to see you here. In this hot water you will all be boiled fish before long!”

“That’s true enough,” said the Fish; “the water is hot.” Well, the end of it was, they persuaded an old Fish with one eye to go and see.

The Crane took the one-eyed Fish in his beak and put him in the lake; and when he had seen that what the Crane said was true so far, he carried the Fish back again to tell the others.

The old Fish could not say enough to praise the lake. “It’s ever so big,” he said, “and deep and cool, just as the Crane said; and there are trees overshadowing it, and water-lilies are growing in the mud; and the whole of it is covered with fine fat flies! Ah, what a feast I have had!” And he rolled up his one eye at the thought of it.

Then all the Fish were eager to go. And now it was who should be first; every Fish was anxious to remain no longer in the pool. They came to the top of the water, all begging the Crane to take them to this beautiful lake.

“One at a time!” said the Crane. “I have only one beak, you know!” And he smiled to himself, for that beak was made to eat fish, not to carry them.

However, it was decided that as the one-eyed Fish had been so brave as to trust himself in the Crane’s beak, before he knew what the truth was, he certainly deserved to go first.

So the Crane took the one-eyed Fish in his beak, and carried him over to the lake. But this time he did not drop the Fish in; he laid him in the cleft of a tree, and pecked his one eye out with his beak; then he killed him, and ate him up, and dropped his bones at the foot of the tree.

By-and-by the Crane came back for another. “Now then, who’s next?” asked the Crane. “Old One-eye is swimming about, as happy as a king!” He picked up another fish, and served him like the first, dropping his bones at the foot of the tree.

And so it went on, until in a few days the pool was empty. The cunning Crane had eaten every single one of the fish! He stood on the bank, peering into every hole, to see whether there might not be a little one left somewhere. There was one, surely! No, it was a Crab. Never mind, he thought; all’s fish that comes to my net!

So he invited the Crab to come with him to the lake.

“Why, how are you going to carry me?” asked the Crab.

“In my beak, to be sure!” replied the Crane.

“You might drop me,” said the Crab, “and then I should split.”

“Oh no, I promise I won’t drop you!” said the Crane. But the Crab had more sense than all the fish put together, and he did not believe in the Crane’s friendship at all. So he still pretended to hesitate, and at last he said:

“Well, I’ll tell you what. I can hold on tighter with my claws than you can with your beak. I’ll come, but you must let me hold on to your neck with my claws. Then I shall feel safe.”

The Crane was so hungry that, without stopping to think, he agreed; and then the Crab got tight hold of his neck with his claws, and the Crane carried him towards the lake.

But after a while the Crab saw that he was being carried somewhere else, indeed to that tree where the Crane used to sit and eat the fish.

“Crane dear,” said he, “aren’t you going to put me in the lake?”

“Crane dear, indeed!” said the Crane, “do you suppose I was born to carry crabs about? Not I! Just look at that heap of bones under yon tree! Those are the bones of the fish that used to live in your pool. I ate them, and I’m going to eat you!”

“Are you, though!” said the Crab, and gave the Crane’s neck a little nip.

Then the Crane saw what a fool he had been to let a Crab put a claw round his neck. He knew that the Crab could kill him if he liked, and he was frightened to death at the thought. People who try to deceive others often pay for it themselves; and that is what happened to the Crane.

“Dear Crab!” said he, with tears streaming from his eyes, “forgive me! I won’t kill you, only let me go!”

“Just put me in the lake, then,” said the Crab.

The Crane stepped down to the lakeside, and laid the Crab upon the mud. And the Crab, as soon as he felt himself safe, nipped off the Crane’s head as clean as if it had been cut with a knife.

So perished the treacherous Crane, caught by his own trick. And the Crab lived happily in the beautiful lake for the rest of his life.

There once was a clever Fowler who used to hunt quails. He could imitate the quail’s note exactly; and when he had found a hiding-place, he used to sit hidden in it, and call out the quail’s note, until a number of quails had come together; then he threw a net over them, and bagged them all.

But amongst the quails was one very clever bird, and he hit on the following device: He told the quails, when they felt the net drop over them, that each one should pop his head through one of the meshes of the net, and then at the word, away they should fly together.

All fell out as he arranged. Next day the Fowler sounded his imitation of the quail’s note, and the birds flocked from far and near; then, when a good many had gathered in a clump within his reach, he cast the net, which fell over them and made them all prisoners. They all did what the wise Quail had told them; each quail put his head through one of the meshes, then at a word they were all away together, bearing the net with them. After some little time they saw a large bush, and dropped upon this bush; then the net was held up by the bush, while all the birds got away underneath.

Again and again this happened, until the Fowler began to despair; he came home every night empty-handed, and besides that he had lost ever so many nets.

Why did he keep on trying to catch them, then? Because he thought that sooner or later they would begin to quarrel, and then the game would be his.

And quarrel they soon did. One Quail happened to tread on another’s toe.

“What are you doing, clumsy?” said the second Quail angrily.

“I’m very sorry,” said the first; “I really did not mean to tread on your toe.”

“You did!”

“I tell you I didn’t!”

“What a lie!”

“A lie, is it? Hoity, toity, how high-and-mighty we are, to be sure! I suppose it is you lift up the net, all by yourself, when the man throws it over us!”

And so they went on, getting angrier and angrier. And the result was, that next day, when the fowler made his cast, said the first Quail to the second:

“Now then, Samson, lift away! They say that last time your feathers all fell off your head!”

“Oh, indeed! They say that when you tried to lift, both your wings moulted! Lift away, and let us see if it is true!”

But while they were quarrelling, and each telling the other to lift the net, the Fowler lifted it for them, and crammed them all together into his basket, and took them home for supper.