For instance, one night in the rainy season, the stag came to the tent which Two-Legs had put up to protect his animals:
“Well, you’re nice and dry here,” said the stag and looked enviously into the tent.
“You’re right,” replied the sheep. “It is really much better than in the old days, when we used to take shelter under a tree and get drenched all the same.”
“Just so,” said the cow. “And in the dry season too it was pleasant every day to get our food, which Two-Legs had stored up for us, instead of having to go all over the country as before, in search of a blade of grass.”
“But I thought you had to drudge for it,” said the stag. “I have often seen you drudging and toiling for your master.”
“One good turn deserves another,” said the horse. “For the rest, I can’t deny that my presentiments have been fulfilled. All my limbs hurt me terribly after the day’s work.”
“And so do ours,” said the ox and the cow.
The duck, the goose and the hen agreed. But the sheep shook her fat head, while she went on chewing the cud:
“I can’t remember what sort of presentiment I had,” she said. “I am well off as I am.”
“Are you grumbling over there?” asked Trust, who was keeping watch and never slept with more than one eye shut. “Shall I call the master?”
The stag took fright and ran away. But the horse said:
“No, please do nothing of the sort. He has worked hard himself to-day and is no doubt as tired as we are. It would be a sin to wake him.”
But Two-Legs in his own tent was not asleep.
On the contrary, he was wide awake, thinking over things, and his wife could not sleep either, for she was thinking too.
“I am sick of wandering about the country,” he said at last. “We are no longer young, we have a very big family and sometimes the work makes me tired.”
“Me too,” said Mrs. Two-Legs. “But that has nothing to do with it. We are obliged to move about to get the grass we want.”
He rose and went out into the rain, had a look at his animals and then came back again and sat down in his old place. The lion was roaring outside in the meadow.
“Tell me,” he said, after a while, “where does the grass come from?”
“You know as well as I do,” she said. “We have often talked of how it scatters its seed and how the seed shoots up between the old withered blades when the rain comes.”
