“We are having trouble with the moths, butterflies and bats,” he continued sternly, hitting at a restless young pullet.
“You remember, that once we asked them to join our gathering, but the bats behaved so badly by bumping into everything that it broke up the dancing.
“Bad news,” cawed the crows and shrieked the blue jays
“The moths also were too silly for words. They almost stopped the orchestra by hitting them all the time. As for the butterflies, they went to bed as usual without even taking the trouble to send regrets.”
“Shameful, shameful!” hissed everybody.
“And so,” continued the Eagle, “we have never given them another invitation.”
“Why should we?” sang a king bird shrilly.
“Why should we?” squeaked and piped, barked and crowed, chirped and croaked, the whole company.
“But,” the Eagle went on, waving his rod for silence, “the bats did not like being left out, and now they refuse to carry my messages over their telegraph wires. They have formed a union against us, and I can get nothing through to the Sandpiper because it is over a wire which they control. The telegram reads: