“Listen to me, then,” said the Crocodile.  “Almost every day a nice fat Hen,—­Oh, Mbambi! so delightfully fat and tempting!—­comes to my river to feed.  Well, why don’t I make her my dinner? you ask.  Now hearken:  each time, just as I am about to catch her and carry her to my home she startles me by calling me ‘Brother.’  Did you ever hear of anything so maddening?  Twice I have let her escape because of the word.  But I can stand it no longer, and I am on the way to Princess Nzambi to hold a palaver about it.” (By “palaver” the slangy Crocodile meant a long, serious talk.)

“Silly idiot!” cried the Mbambi, not very politely.  “Do nothing of the kind.  You will only get the worst of the palaver and show your ignorance before the wise Nzambi.  Now listen to me.  Don’t you know, dear Crocodile, that the Duck lives on the water, though she is neither a fish nor a reptile?  And the Duck lays eggs.  The Turtle does the same, though she is no bird.  The Hen lays eggs, just as I do; and I am Mbambi, the great Lizard.  As for you, dear old Hungry-Mouth, you know that at this moment”—­here she whispered discreetly, looking around to see that no one was listening,—­“at this moment in a snug nest dug out of the sand on the banks of the Congo, Mrs. Crocodile has covered with leaves to hide them from your enemies sixty smooth white eggs.  And in a few weeks out of these will scamper sixty little wiggly Crocodiles, your dear, homely, scaly, hungry-mouthed children.  Yes, we all lay eggs, my silly friend, and so in a sense we are all brothers, as the Hen has said.”

“Sh!” whispered the Crocodile, nervously.  “Don’t mention those eggs of mine, I beg of you.  Some one might overhear.  What you say is undoubtedly true,” he added pensively, after thinking a few moments.  “Then I suppose I must give up my tempting dinner of Hen.  I cannot eat my Sister, can I?”

“Of course you cannot,” said the Mbambi, as he rustled away through the jungle.  “We can’t have everything we want in this world.”

“No, I see we cannot,” sighed the Crocodile, as he waddled back towards the banks of the Congo.  Now in the same old spot he found the Hen, who had been improving his absence by greedily stuffing herself on beetle-bugs, flies, and mosquitoes until she was so fat that she could not run away at the Crocodile’s approach.  She could only stand and squawk feebly, fluttering her ridiculous wings.

But the Crocodile only said, “Good evening, Sister,” very politely, and passing her by with a wag of his enormous tail sank with a plop into the waters of the Congo.

And ever since that time the Hen has eaten her dinner in tranquil peace, undisturbed by the sight of floating log or basking shape of knobby green.  For she knows that old Hungry-Mouth will not eat his Sister, the Hen.

THE THRUSH AND THE CUCKOO

In the wonderful days of old it is said that Christ and Saint Peter went together upon a journey.  It was a beautiful day in March, and the earth was just beginning to put on her summer gorgeousness.  As the two travelers were passing near a great forest they spied a Thrush sitting on a tree singing and singing as hard as he could.  And he cocked his head as if he was very proud of something.