“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’