I always like to tell of the time, long and long ago, when the creatures lived in towns like people, and had their own farms.
The Crocodile had a farm by the river, and he used to come up on land when he liked. One day, as he lay sunning himself on his farm, the Rabbit saw him.
“How do you do, Uncle?” said the Rabbit, edging up toward him. “You seem to be taking life easy. All you have to do is to sleep, and eat, and bathe, and enjoy yourself.”
“Let me alone,” grunted the Crocodile, who was sleepy. And he shut his eyes.
Close to the Crocodile’s nose there grew a nice juicy bunch of young plantains.
“How good those leaves do look!” thought the Rabbit. “And there they grow and flourish under the very nose of a creature who never eats them. I wonder if I could not get just one good bite, and then run?”
The Rabbit crept up closer and closer, but just as he was going to nibble at the leaves, the Crocodile woke up and yelled at him.
“Get away from here, you little thief!” he roared, and he snapped so savagely with his sharp, white, pointed teeth that the Rabbit ran faster than he had ever thought he possibly could run, and never stopped until he reached home.