"Crawl away, old Helpless!" he hissed. "The poison is in my fangs, but I would rather spare one who is said to be my kinsman."
But the water-snake did not move from the spot, and for a long time the snakes lay there hissing abusive epithets at each other.
When Crawlie was so angry that he couldn't hiss, but could only dart his tongue out, the water-snake changed the subject, and began to talk in a very different tone.
"I had still another errand, Crawlie," he said, lowering his voice to a mild whisper. "But now I suppose you are so angry that you wouldn't care to help me?"
"If you don't ask anything foolish of me, I shall certainly be at your service."
"In the pine trees down by the swamp live a moth folk that fly around all night."
"I know all about them," remarked Crawlie. "What's up with them now?"
"They are the smallest insect family in the forest," said Helpless, "and the most harmless, since the caterpillars content themselves with gnawing only pine needles."
"Yes, I know," said Crawlie.
"I'm afraid those moths will soon be exterminated," sighed the water-snake. "There are so many who pick off the caterpillars in the spring."