“You’ll be sorry one day,” said the ox. “The new animals will be the ruin of us all. The danger threatens you as well as the rest of us.”
“I see no danger and I know no fear,” said the lion, proudly. “But is there really not one of you to take the strangers’ part?”
“If they did not belong to my family, I would do so gladly,” said the orang-outang. “But it looks bad to recommend one’s own relations. Let them go their way and starve. They are quite harmless.”
“Then I at least will say a good word for them,” said the dog. “My foot is almost well again and I believe that they are cleverer than all the rest of you put together. I shall never forget what they did for me.”
“That’s right, cousin,” said the lion. “You’re a fine fellow and one can see that you come of a good stock. I don’t believe that these Two-Legs are dangerous and I have no intention of doing them any harm. To be sure, if I meet them one day when I’m hungry, I shall eat them. That’s a different thing. Hunger knows no law. But to-night I have had enough to eat and I am going home to bed. Good night, all of you!”
Then none of the animals said another word. They went away as noiselessly as they had come. The night came to an end and the day broke in the east.
4
Then suddenly the ox and the horse and the sheep and the goat came galloping over the meadow. Behind them, as fast as they could, came the goose and the duck and the hen. The ox was at their head and rushed with lowered horns to the place where the strangers lay sleeping.