"Oh, what a dreadful story!" said the thrush. "How can you say so?"
"Yes, you are," said the weasel. "Sir Bevis, you remember the two snails you found in the garden path—those you put on a leaf, and watched to see which could crawl the fastest?"
"I remember," said Sir Bevis. "But you must make haste, or my match will burn out."
"And you recollect that the snails had no legs and could not walk, and that they had no wings and could not fly, and were very helpless creatures?"
"Yes, I remember; I left them on the path."
"Well, directly you left them, out came this great ugly speckled thrush from the shrubbery—you see how big the thrush is, quite a monster beside the poor snails; and you see what long legs she has, and great wings, and such a strong, sharp beak. This cruel monster of a thrush picked up the snails, one at a time, and smashed them on the stones, and gobbled them up."
"Well," said the thrush, much relieved, "is that all? snails are very nice to eat."
"Was it not brutally cruel?" asked the weasel.
"Yes, it was," said Bevis.
"Then," said the weasel, "when you shoot me, shoot the thrush too."