Zixi, more wretched than she had ever been before in her life, threw herself down upon her face in the lilac-grove and wept for more than an hour, which is an exceedingly long time for tears to run from one’s eyes. And when she finally arose, two tiny brooks flowed from the spot and wound through the lilac-trees—one to the right and one to the left.
Then, leaving the magic cloak—to possess which she had struggled so hard and sinfully—lying unheeded upon the ground, the disappointed witch-queen walked slowly away, and finally reached the bank of the great river.
“SHE THREW OFF THE CLOAK AND RAN TO THE CRYSTAL SPRING.”
Here she found a rugged old alligator who lay upon the bank, weeping with such bitterness that the sight reminded Zixi of her own recent outburst of sorrow.
“Why do you weep, friend?” she asked, for her experience as a witch had long since taught her the language of the beasts and birds and reptiles.
“Because I cannot climb a tree,” answered the alligator.
“But why do you wish to climb a tree?” she questioned, surprised.
“Because I can’t,” returned the alligator, squeezing two more tears from his eyes.
“But that is very foolish!” exclaimed the witch-queen, scornfully.