"Your people kill them," Baba said, as if that settled matters. "Now you can't. You've said they were your friends."
"Is that some kind of rule?" Johnny asked.
"You said they were your friends," Baba repeated. "You help your friends and your friends help you. That is the law and will be the law as the trees stand. Between friend and friend there is no parting more than the fingers of a hand." Baba said this in a sort of sing-song of clicks, like the song of a bird. It was something like a poem.
"Baba," Johnny asked, "how do you know all this? You've never talked this way before." Johnny squatted down before the little bear, whose face was screwed up into a puzzled frown.
"I guess I've always known it," Baba clicked. "But it just came back to me. I don't remember much before I came to live with you, Johnny. But I do remember being in a high tree. There was one like me whom I loved very much, and she sang the song I just sang to you. I remember going to sleep while she sang it. It is a true song, too."
"Would you sing it again?" Johnny asked.
The little bear began again:
"You help your friends and your friends help you.
It is the law,
And will be the law as the trees stand.