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 of his neighbour, except when he wanted to eat him.
 
The new animals had taken up their 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 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 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 them wherever he went.
 
“Who minds what he says?” asked the stag. “They’re relations; and we all know what that means.”
 
 
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 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. . “My husband eats the children, if I don’t look after them.”
 
“Husbands are 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 was an hour old, he was jumping merrily over the meadow.”
 
“There’s no sense in carrying a poor little like that in one’s arms,” said Mrs. Kangaroo. “If he were mine, he should stay in my 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 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 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 and 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, 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.”