“‘We, also,’ called Black Mane, while soon, from all sides, came voices crying the same.
“‘Then harken, one and all,’ roared the voice from the rock.
“Now, what the story was about need not concern us just now,” continued the Lady. “But there was a story—and oh, such an interesting one. At times the listeners nudged one another with delight, while the younger animals found themselves exchanging knowing glances with those they had never so much as noticed before. But, as is often the contrary way of those who tell tales, the voice that told this one suddenly stopped at the most exciting point in the story.
“‘Tell us the rest,’ rose the cry from the plain.
“‘To-morrow, at midnight,’ roared the face of the cliff. ‘Come then, if you’d hear the end of the tale.’
“Now you may be sure that the following night found all at the foot of the great rock again. They were gathered together a full hour before midnight and some spent the time retelling the story. But not all told it alike, and soon—of all unheard-of things—animals who had never spoken to one another in all their days found themselves appealing to know if this or that were not the way the tale had been told. Even as they debated, there came a roar from the cliff and the unseen one went on with the story. In time it was finished and the great voice was stilled.
“‘Tell us another,’ cried all the animals from their place on the plain.
“But plead as they would, the voice came no more. And, strangely enough, they never heard it again. They returned to the plain the very next night, but the hole in the great rock had been closed. They waited until long after midnight—but not one single sound came to greet them. Never had there been such a mystery and it was talked of for hours upon hours and days upon days. Time after time the animals came to the great rock and, always, in quest of the voice that was stilled. As they lingered, night after night, in the hope that it might come again, the various animals told their own favorite stories. And then, little by little, the different ones began listening to those that yet others told. This made for friendships and, one memorable night, a certain monkey made bold to suggest that at least once every week some particular animal be selected to tell one story to all. The thought was approved and so, as time passed along, this trysting place came to be known by a name that is loved by every animal in Jungleland. And what, do you suppose, is it called?”
“The Story Time Rock,” spoke up Lion.
“Why, yes!” answered the Pretty Lady. “But how did you know, Lion?”