1 The rainy season went by, the sun recovered his strength and rain and sunshine came and went by turns. Time passed, as it must and will pass.
 
The Two-Legs family were now living in a new house which was better than either the leafy hut on the island or the up in the apple-tree.
 
It was a cave in the rocks, which Two-Legs had discovered on one of his . It was cool in the warm weather and in the cold it was sheltered against the rain and it could be closed with a big stone at night or when danger threatened. Two-Legs had hung the walls with skins and carpeted the floor with and now felt comfortably at home with his family and the dog.
 
He had plenty to do, for the family had increased. He now had three children, who were doing excellently and eating like wolves. He had had to be careful since the night when he flung the bone at the lion’s head, for not only had he made an enemy of the king of beasts, but most of the other animals of the forest looked upon him with suspicion.
 
And they were well-advised, for Two-Legs had become a hunter, in no way inferior to the lion himself.
 
In the back room of his cave, he kept two big spears and one little one, which his son was already able to use very cleverly. They lay in wait for their , just as the lion and the other hunters of the forest did. The dog drove the game towards them and they threw their spears and killed it.
 
“He’s a better hunter than I,” said the lion, one evening, to his wife. “With his spear to-day he got a young deer that I had selected for myself.”
 
“Why didn’t you take her yourself?” asked the lioness.
 
“I was crawling up to her in the grass,” he replied. “But, before I could make my spring, Two-Legs had killed her. He sent his spear through her neck and she fell dead on the spot.”
 
“Then why didn’t you take her from him after he had killed her?” asked the lioness again.
 
“He had another spear in his hand,” said the lion. “And his youngster had one also. The spear is a thing I don’t understand. They who are struck by it fall down and die.”
 
“You’re afraid of Two-Legs,” the lioness. “He’s the king of the forest, not you. If your son proves as big a coward as yourself, we’re done for.”
 
The lion said nothing, but lay staring before him with his yellow eyes.
 
2
But, a little before daybreak, he stole up to Two-Legs’ cave, hid in the bushes and waited patiently until the stone was rolled away. This happened immediately after sunrise. The lion made ready to leap. He saw blood before his eyes and sprang, almost without thinking, upon the first form that appeared, struck it down with his powerful claws and carried it back with a bound into the bushes.
 
A terrible scream brought Two-Legs to the entrance of the cave. He stood holding a spear in either hand. The lion saw that he had not killed his enemy, but only one of his children. He let go the and prepared to make a fresh spring. Two-Legs now saw him among the leaves. He flung one spear and missed him. Then he threw the other, but the lion was gone, with great bounds.
 
With tears and lamentations, Two-Legs and his wife bore the dead child into the cave. The lion, hurried by fear, fled through the forest. Wherever he came, the terrified animals fell aside.
 
“The lion is flying from Two-Legs,” announced the sparrow.
 
And the spread through the whole forest and grew.
 
“Two-Legs has wounded the lion with his spear,” screamed the crow.
 
“Two-Legs has killed the lion and is hunting the lioness,” the mouse.
 
And the lion fled on.
 
He rushed past his , as though he dare not look his wife in the face. He did not come home until late at night.
 
“Are you still alive?” asked the lioness, . “The whole forest believes you dead. And what about Two-Legs?”
 
“I have killed one of his young,” answered the lion, angrily.
 
“What’s the good of that?” asked she.
 
Then he caught her a box on the ear the like of which she had never had before, lay down and stared before him with his yellow eyes.
 
But the animals in the forest wondered and whispered to one another:
 
“The lion is afraid.... The lion runs away from Two-Legs.”
 
“Didn’t I tell you so?” said the ox. “We ought to have killed him then and there.”
 
 
“Ah, yes!” said the horse. “If the lion had only taken our advice!”
 
“Ah, yes!” sighed the duck and the goose and the hen.
 
But the orang-outang went to one side in the forest and reflected:
 
“My cousin is not such a fool as I thought,” said he to himself. “I really don’t know why I shouldn’t go and do the same. I am like him, but have many advantages which he has not; and I ought to do at least as well as he.”
 
He took a stick and tried if he could walk like Two-Legs. He succeeded quite nicely and then he made for the other animals. He lifted his stick, yelled and made terrible eyes. But the animals crowded round and laughed at him. The fox snatched the stick from his hand, the stag him in the back, the sparrow behaved uncivilly on his head and they all made such fun of him that he ran away and hid in the copsewood where it was thickest.
 
3
But the next morning the animals had fresh food for thought.
 
They saw Two-Legs carry the corpse into the forest and build a great heap of stones over it. His wife picked the reddest flowers and laid them on the stones.
 
“Well, I never!” said the nightingale. “When another dies, he’s left, if you please, to lie where he falls. But as much fuss is made about this child as if his memory were to last for all ! I don’t even know what has become of my live children of last year, not to speak of the poor little chap who fell out of the nest and broke his neck.”
 
“You just wait. There’s worse to come,” said the ox.
 
And it came. For, a week later, something happened that the animals of the forest more than all that had gone before. Mrs. Two-Legs saw a splendid bird of paradise sitting in a tree:
 
“What wonderful feathers!” she said. “If I could only have a tuft like that to wear in my hair!”
 
Two-Legs, who wanted to do everything to console her for the death of the child, at once went out with his spear and soon came back with the dead bird of paradise. She pulled out his feathers and tucked them in her hair and thought she looked charming; and Two-Legs thought so too.
 
“Now this is really too bad,” said the nightingale. “To kill a bird in order to his wife with the feathers! Did you ever in your born days! It’s well for me that I’m so grey and ugly!”
 
The widow of the bird of paradise, followed by a great host, went off to the lion:
 
“The new animals have killed my husband,” she said. “Here am I left a widow, with four cold eggs. Now that my breadwinner is killed, I can’t stay at home and sit on the eggs, unless I want to die of hunger. So I left them, to look for some food. When I returned, they were cold and dead. I have come to demand upon the murderer.”
 
“What can I say?” said the lion. “There are so many widows in the forest. I myself don’t ask if the animals which I kill, when I am hungry, have wives and children at home.”
 
“He didn’t do it because he was hungry,” said the widow of the bird of paradise. “He did it only to present his wife with a tuft of feathers for her hair.”
 
“What’s he to do when his wife asks for it?” said the lion. “It’s no joke falling out with your wife.”
 
Some of the animals laughed. But most of them shook their heads and thought it a stupid jest, unworthy of the king of beasts.
 
4
The next day, the animals of the forest of nothing but Two-Legs. They one and all had something to complain of:
 
“He took my whole nest, the other day, with seventeen new-laid eggs in it,” said the hen.
 
“There are no fish left in the river,” said the . “And one gets bludgeoned into the bargain.”
 
“One can no longer graze in peace in the meadows,” said the stag.
 
But, if sorrow and terror among the larger, important animals, some of the smaller, animals did not mind so much and, in fact, were rather amused at the misfortunes of their betters:
 
“Why should we care?” asked the fly. “Let the big ones eat one another up as they please: it doesn’t concern us in any case. And I, for my part, would rather have Two-Legs than the nightingale.”
 
“No one is safe,” said the bee. “He took my honey yesterday.”
 
“Yes,” said the earth-worm. “And, the day before that, he took my own brother, stuck him on a hook and caught a with him.”