"So he ought," said the squirrel; "but the truth is, people are weary of the rule of the magpies; nor is this young and flighty prince capable of taking up the reins of state. He is vain, and dissipated, and uncertain—no one can depend upon him. And besides, even if they could, have you not heard the extraordinary secret he has let out, like the great lout he is, and of which everybody is talking?"
"No," said Bevis; "I have heard nothing—how should I? I have only just got here. What is the secret? Tell me the secret this minute."
"To think," said the jay, "that we should have been so long deceived. But I had my suspicions."
"I cannot say I suspected anything," said the hare; "but I remember Kauc did make a very curious remark on one occasion; he was always looking askew into things and places that did not concern him, so that I did not much heed, especially as he had started slanders about me."
"Well," said the jay, "the truth is, my wife—she is, you know, the most beautiful creature in the world, and quite turned the head of the late monarch—told me that she all along had her ideas; and Kapchack himself indeed told her in confidence that he was not so old as he looked, being jealous of the youth of Tchack-tchack, who objected to having his eye pecked out, and his feathers ruffled, as if he had any claims to be handsome;" and the jay surveyed his own bright feathers with pride.
"You stupids!" said Bevis, "what is the use of talking in that way? I want to know the secret."
"There is no secret," said the jay; "and I am not stupid. How can there be a secret, when everybody knows it?"
"Hush! hush!" said the hare, trying to make peace; "do not let us quarrel, at all events, if all the rest do."
"No," said the squirrel; "certainly not."
"Certainly not," repeated the jay.