“He’s just the same as other husbands,” observed Mrs. Stag.
“There are some who are worse,” said Mrs. Mole. “My husband eats the children, if I don’t look after them.”
“Husbands are mere rubbish,” said Mrs. Spider. “I ate mine as soon as I had laid my eggs.”
“Do spare us those gruesome stories,” said Mrs. Nightingale. “But he might sing to her a little. That’s what my husband does.”
“Oh, but look at the baby! Isn’t he sweet?” exclaimed Mrs. Reed-Warbler.
“Poor little thing!” said Mrs. Stag. “He can’t even stand on his legs and the sparrow was saying that he was born at eleven o’clock last night. When my fawn was an hour old, he was jumping merrily over the meadow.”
“There’s no sense in carrying a poor little mite like that in one’s arms,” said Mrs. Kangaroo. “If he were mine, he should stay snugly in my pouch until he knew how to behave himself. But probably the poor woman hasn’t even got a pouch.”
“At least he can see!” said Mrs. Fox. “My children are blind for quite nine days.”
“Don’t forget that they are poor people,” said the orang-outang.