“Two-Legs ... whom no one can understand ... to whom all things belong,” sang the evening breeze.
Two-Legs sat and listened. He liked to hear that sort of thing, the more the better.
But, as the evening wore on, the wind grew stronger and shook the tent. The gentle whispering in the leaves sounded less home-like than before. The billows in the brook did not babble softly, but made a mighty uproar and sent their foam splashing right over his feet.
“What’s the matter?” asked Two-Legs, who was beginning to feel cold, and wrapped his cloak round him.
“Yes, who knows what’s the matter?” whispered the leaves.
“Who can tell what’s at the bottom of it?” rippled the spring.
“There is more between heaven and earth than Two-Legs knows of,” said the wind.
Two-Legs leant back against the tent and looked about him proudly:
“Then let it come,” he said. “I have vanquished the lion and subdued the horse and the wild ox; so I daresay I can conquer what remains.”
Just as he said this, there came a terrible gust of wind.