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 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 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 to where the forest grew thickest and where he could only with difficulty. Nor did it give him any pleasure to hunt up there, where the lion might so easily be lying in .
 
“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 and was lucky enough to drop it just over the neck of the sheep. She pitifully, but the held fast and . 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.”
 
Mrs. Two-Legs came with a knife and cut off the old sheep’s wool. The sheep struggled and yelled grievously, but Two-Legs was and she was bound so tight that resistance was of no avail.
 
“Now I shall be cold myself when it rains,” cried the sheep.
 
 
“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 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 between the stakes[59] 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 with his sling. He went on hunting and soon the cow was there and the bull and their . 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:
 
 
“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.”

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