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.”
‘HE SHOT AN ARROW INTO MY LEFT WING’
“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.
