1

when the time came, two-legs filled the house which he had built for a barn with the produce of his field. and the harvest was hardly gathered before he began to think of next year.

he ploughed a new field and another and sowed them. the year after, he cleared a part of the forest and tilled that.

and so he went on year by year, until he had cultivated the land as far as he could see from his house on the hill.

round the house he had planted a garden with the fruit-trees and herbs which he had a use for. the fields lay in long, even strips, each with its own sort of grass or corn. the whole was fenced in; and two-legs was hard upon any who destroyed his work or stole his property.

2

it looked as though he were the lord of the earth. no one dared set himself up against him. his herd increased from day to day and the wild animals fled far away as soon as they saw a sign of him or his. in the depths of the forest, however, and under the cover of the darkness and whenever they felt safe from him, they talked of the old days when they themselves were the masters, of the shame that it was that he should subjugate them so and of their hopes of better times:

“he throws stones at a poor bird that picks a grain of corn in his field,” said the sparrow.

“yesterday, he drove me out of the hazel-hedge round his garden,” said the squirrel.

“he shot an arrow into my left wing because i took a lamb,” said the eagle.

“he has driven me right out of the forest,” said the wolf. “he told me that all the game belonged to him and that, if i dared touch it, he would persecute me and my cubs to the end of the world, if need be.”

“perhaps he’ll take it into his head to-morrow to say that all the meadows are his,” cried the stag. “and where are we to graze then?”

the thistle, the poppy and the bluebell pressed close against the hedge. the violet hid herself in the ditch and the stinging-nettle stood gloomily and angrily outside two-legs’ garden fence.

“are we any better off?” asked the thistle. “we’ve been driven from home and have to stand against the hedge and look on while the silly grass spreads all over the field. we are at his mercy; he can take our lives any day he pleases.”

“he has planted some of my sisters in his garden,” said the violet.

“and some of mine,” said the poppy. “but that’s not liberty.”

“prick him, thistle!” said the tall oak.

“i did and he struck me with his stick,” replied the thistle.

“sting him, nettle!” said the oak.

“i did,” said the nettle, “and i came off no better than the thistle.”

in the corn, however, a glad whisper ran from one end of the field to the other.

“it is we ... it is we ... it is we ... it is we that reign in the land now.... we are good.... we are useful.... you are nothing but weeds.”

“hear them, the cowardly dogs!” said the thistle.

“we can do nothing,” said the bluebell. “why don’t you big trees fall down on him and crush him and his brood?”

“that’s a ticklish matter, falling down,” said the oak. “but have we not a king of the forest to protect us? where is the lion?”

“yes the lion ... where is the lion?” they all cried.

but the lion was not there and did not come.

3

two-legs sat at home in his garden, under a big apple-tree, surrounded by all his family.

he cast his eyes over his fields, on which the corn waved, and up into the apple-tree, which hung full of delicious, yellow fruit. one of his sons had just come back from the lake with a couple of big fish. another was hunting in the forest; now they heard his call and he stood at the edge of the wood with a fat roebuck over his shoulders.

a third was busy making a plough: he wanted to improve upon the old one. and all the rest were working at one thing or another. the girls were busy in the kitchen or turning the mill-wheel.

“we have had luck on our side,” said two-legs to his wife. “everything thrives and grows under our hands. and our children will do better than we and their children better still. i hardly dare picture the power and glory which our race may yet achieve.”

“yes,” said mrs. two-legs. “things are going well with us. remind me to strew a little corn for the sparrows, when the bad times come.”

“i sha’n’t forget,” said he. “we have such plenty now that we can afford to give those little thieves a helping hand. and i like to hear them twittering when i get up in the morning.”