As soon as the wolf was able to get up, he went groaning out of the field. He was cured of one thing, but the medicine was very bitter.
There was once a terrible war between the birds and the beasts. For a long time it was doubtful which would win.
The bat said, “I am not a bird and I am not a beast, so I shall fight on neither side.”
At last the beasts seemed to be gaining the victory. The bat flew to them and said, “I am a beast. Look at my body and you will see that I am. I shall fight on your side.”
New flocks of birds came to help their relatives, and the battle soon turned against the beasts.
Then the bat skulked over to the other side. “I am a bird,” said he. “I can prove it by my wings,” and he fought with the birds.
At last the war was over. The bat was hated by beasts and birds. Both made war upon him. He was obliged to slink off and hide in dark places during the day, never showing his face until dusk.
Some working bees had made their comb in the hollow trunk of an oak.
The drones said, “We made that comb. It belongs to us.”
“You did not make that comb,” replied the workers. “You know very well that you did not. We made it.”
The drones answered, “That comb belongs to us and we are going to have it.”
So the workers took the case to Judge Wasp that he might decide the matter.
The workers and the drones settled down before him. “You workers and drones,” said he, “are so much alike in shape and color that it is hard to tell which has been seen in the tree. But I think the matter can be justly decided. Each party may go to a hive in which there is no honey, and build up a new comb. The one that makes comb and honey like that found in the tree is the owner of the tree comb.”
“All right,” said the workers, “we will do it;” but the drones said, “We will have nothing to do with such a plan.”
So Judge Wasp said, “It is plain to see which of you made the comb. It belongs to the workers.”
The drones buzzed away very angry, but they were not able to harm the workers or the judge, and the workers went back to their tree.
One day a poor woodman lost his ax. He hunted all day, but he could not find it. He was very sad, for how could he make a living for his family without an ax? Besides he had no money with which to buy a new one. As night came on, he sank down by the roadside and buried his face in his hands.
He heard a noise in the bushes and raised his head. A stranger was standing by him. “What is the matter?” asked the stranger. The woodman told him of his trouble.