The birds, wondering at the melancholy cry, flew down in countless numbers to the Vagaï; on all sides resounded chirruping and twittering. Here the mellow call of the cuckoo predominated; there the elaborate whistle of the goldhammer. The Cedar-crow, the forest landowner, was there waiting. She came forward and made her speech—
'It is a custom among you, respected birds, to live together and hold everything in common. That is your own affair; but we cannot live so. We have children, and are bound to think of them and have something to leave them. Among you every one snatches the food from his neighbour's beak, and robs his neighbour without any question; and we find that all this ends in nothing but anxiety. We don't want things that belong to others, and we feel it hard when others give us no peace. So we have resolved to announce to you that we want no part in your communal forest, and will not touch it; we will not take from it a single seed or stalk; but you, on your side, agree together that no one shall peck our nuts, or perch on our cedar, or fly across our glade. This is our request to you, respected birds.'
When the Cedar-crow left off speaking there was silence: the birds sat with their bills wide open, and could not utter a word for amazement.
The first to recover himself was a starling. 'Why—you—idiot!' he cried. 'Think yourself what a fool you are! All the wide world is here before you, and you want to give it up for one little glade!'
'Oh, the world! The world is not mine—it's every one's—not much of it will fall to my share; it's all very well to be so sure! but the cedar, if it is small, at least it's mine!' That is what the Cedar-crow thought; but aloud she only said: 'Well, if you think it better to possess the whole world in common than one little glade separately, what is there to argue about? The world remains to you, so it must be a good bargain for you; and there's nothing more to be said. Then give us our glade, leave us in peace, and that is all we ask.'
'You foolish creature!' exclaimed the other birds; 'he spoke for your advantage; of course, your glade will be no loss to us; but it's piteous to see a creature so blind! He only wanted to bring you to your senses.'
'You must have a lot of good advice to spare if you can give away so much of it without being asked,' replied the Cedar-crow, polishing her broad beak.
Seeing that the Cedar-crow was hopelessly wrong-headed, the birds talked the matter over, and decided that she and her mate should be left in undisturbed possession of their cedar glade, and that no one should approach within twenty fathoms of it.
The Cedar-crows were delighted. Now, they thought, at last we shall be at peace! And so they were. No one ever came near; they had no longer any need to guard their cedar, or to do anything but eat, drink, and sleep. The rest of their time they spent in gazing at one another, and comparing who had the longest beak. Once it chanced that a nightingale, coming from a far country to seek her lost mate (he had been trapped by bird-catchers), flew to the cedar. She did not know of the agreement among the birds of the Vagaï concerning the cedar glade, and she flew into it. The Cedar-crows were so bored that they were almost glad to see her! They flew out, however, and entered into a polite explanation.
'You probably do not know of the agreement concerning this glade. No one has the right to fly within twenty fathoms of it, because it is ours. We have renounced our claim to all the rest of the forest, and do not take a single seed or stalk from it; but this glade belongs to us.'