"It is well," said Popocatepetl at once, for his spirit was ever kindly. "And now, what will you do?"
The little animal put his hand upon his chin and reflected. "Well, it seems you are hungry, and the King of Everything has forbidden you to go for food in fear that your monstrous feet will riddle the earth with holes. What you need is a pair of wings."
"A pair of wings!" cried Popocatepetl delightedly.
"A pair of wings!" screamed the eagle in joy.
"How very simple, after all."
"And yet how wise!"
"But," said Popocatepetl, after the first outburst, "who can make me these wings?"
The little animal replied: "I and my kind are great, because at times we can make one mind control a hundred thousand bodies. This is the secret of our performance. It will be nothing for us to make wings for even you, great Popocatepetl. I and my kind will come"—continued the crafty, little animal—"we will come and dwell on this beautiful plain that stretches from the sea to the sea, and we will make wings for you."
Popocatepetl wished to embrace the little animal. "Oh, glorious! Oh, best of little brutes! Run! run! run! Summon your kind, dwell in the plain and make me wings. Ah, when once Popocatepetl can soar on his wings from star to star, then, indeed—"
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